She's Armed, He's Dangerous
by Shena1
Summary: What didn't we see? ... A series of filler and extended scenes, or retold scenes from inside a character's head. One chapter per ep for S2. Sticking to the canon ... absolutely no AU ... Expect humour, angst, romance, teasing, sexual frustration, hurt, comfort, drama, inner-torment, imagined sexual contact and fantasizing, and probably a bunch of unspoken swearing from Beckett.
1. Deep in Death

**What ****_didn't_**** we see in Season 2?!**

**This fic is planned to be a series of filler scenes - one chapter per episode for Season 2. **

**Sticking to the canon ... absolutely no AU ... so that means you're in for humour, angst, romance, teasing, hurt, comfort, drama, inner-torment, and probably a bunch of unspoken swearing from Beckett.**

* * *

><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

She grips her cell tightly as it presses against her ear, listening to silence on the other end of the line. Waiting for some advice, some words of commiseration… something. Anything to ease the uncomfortable churning in the pit of her stomach.

"It might not be that bad…" Lanie offers.

"Lanie, I haven't spoken to him in months!"

"It's only one day, Kate," the M.E. asserts. "You hunt murderers for a living. You can handle this."

Beckett clamps her teeth down as she presses her lips together. Hard. "Yeah…" she sighs heavily into the receiver, not entirely convinced by her own admission.

She throws her phone on to the coffee table as she flops back against the couch cushions. Tilting her head back, she buries her face within her palms, breathing extremely slowly and excruciatingly deeply.

Tomorrow.

This is _so _not going to be fun.

* * *

><p><strong>EPISODE 1 - "DEEP IN DEATH"<strong>

Bastard.

Jerk.

Ass.

There are so many more colourful terms she could use to characterize the arrogant son of a bitch. First he digs into her mother's case when she _implicitly_ told him not to. Then she had to sit there while the half-naked stripper twins had been grinding up against him in the middle of the bullpen!

As if little Miss Cosmo hasn't been enough of an irritant - asking ridiculously vapid questions about being a muse... Castle... life as a female cop... Castle… how civilian consultants are crucial to the success of the NYPD… Castle…

And he has the gall to think she even wants him around?

Obnoxious prick.

She stares straight ahead, focused on navigating the insanity of the evening Manhattan traffic as she makes her way to the crime scene, foot increasing its pressure on the gas pedal. The persistent illumination of the brake lights from the taxi in front of her only intensifies her irritation, her hands gripping the steering wheel with even more fervor as she grits her teeth.

Montgomery might call the shots in the precinct, but out here… this is her area of expertise. She is the queen… and Castle? He's nothing. Nothing but a court jester.

She neither needs him nor wants him.

Making a sharp turn to round the corner, she pulls up alongside the police blockade, tires squealing as she slams her foot against the brakes. Exhaling heavily as she slaps the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, Beckett steels her resolve before exiting her vehicle. She might be taking out her frustrations on her cruiser, but there is no way in hell she is going to let him see her like this. This wound up.

She was serious when she told him she doesn't care. And she doesn't. About this ludicrous article. About his stupid little book. About him.

And by the end of this evening, he's going to know it.

Of that, she is certain.

She watches Esposito's cruiser ride up beside her as she slams her car door. She nonchalantly heads towards the illuminated tree, removing a pair of latex gloves from her pocket, as the exasperating jackass rushes to catch up to her.

"Hey, can we talk about this, please?"

"There's nothing to talk about," she replies flatly.

"Well, just at least let me know what I can do to make it up to you," Castle pleads.

"You could leave me alone," she hints frustratingly.

"Yes, well, I tried that, and it didn't work," he muses. "Hey, I could buy you a pony!"

Asshole.

* * *

><p><em>The Morgue Mobile<em>? What a pretentious jerk. As if his hubris isn't enough, now he's trying to impress the flighty reporter with ridiculous terminology. How anyone can find him charming is beyond her.

After finishing interviewing various building residents and the business employees, Beckett focuses on her notes as she returns to her car. Nobody seems to have noticed anything suspicious, but she makes a mental note to consult with the boys once they're back at the precinct. Maybe even get some uniforms to start a canvass.

The moment she opens her driver-side door, however, her thoughts are interrupted by a familiar ring tone.

"Hey Lanie," the detective greets her friend with a smirk, sarcasm oozing from her throat. "You killed Castle yet?"

"Just about…" the M.E. remarks, grabbing Beckett's attention. "We were attacked."

Beckett does a double take as she processes what she just heard. "What?!"

"Someone hit the van… stole the body."

"Did you say _'stole the body'_?"

"Yeah… guys in masks. With assault rifles."

Beckett swallows, pausing briefly before continuing. "Are you guys-"

"We're all okay," Lanie assures her, cutting her off. "...even Castle." Beckett rolls her eyes, but she can't ignore the strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. Concern? Apprehension?

No… no way.

Not for that arrogant schmuck.

Beckett shakes the thought from her mind as she refocuses on the phone call. "You guys okay to return to the precinct, or do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Precinct's fine… gotta give our statements to the traffic cops first… and there's a couple of reporters here already that need to be dealt with," Lanie remarks. "I think Cosmo Girl tweeted about the accident…"

"Anything for a story, huh?" Beckett rolls her eyes, sighing indignantly. "I'll call Castle's family to let them know he's alright," she relents flatly. "But _don't_ tell him I did that!"

"He won't hear it from me."

Beckett nods slightly, the knot in her gut tightening. "Thanks..."

"Mmhmmm…"

* * *

><p>She takes a look at the espresso machine, hesitating momentarily, tempted by the deliciousness of the premiere brew that it creates.<p>

But accepting his coffee would mean accepting him. Accepting what he did. And what message would that send? That she's welcoming him back with open arms?

Yeah, right!

Grabbing a regular mug from the cupboard, Beckett fills it with the sludge the precinct dares to label as coffee. It might taste like a monkey peed in battery acid, but at least it belongs to her…

_Monkey peed in battery acid? _Good lord… can't she even drink regular coffee without thoughts of _him_ infiltrating her mind? She exhales quickly and heavily through her mouth as she watches the insipid female reporter head for the elevator after having spoken to Ryan… Castle still being examined by Lanie.

She smirks happily as she watches the sassy M.E. flick Castle's cheek with her slender finger. '_Thank you, Doctor Parish_,' she muses with a sense of earnest gratification as Castle rubs the sting from his flesh. She takes a sip of the hot liquid, forcing herself to swallow the god-awful muck before making her way towards the group.

Getting within earshot, she realizes that Castle is just spinning more of his ridiculous and puerile theories.

"...organ harvesters, cadaver-less med students, Satanists, mad scientists looking to create their own monster."

"Or the guys who killed him might have left some evidence behind," she counters as she approaches from behind.

He considers reason for only a split-second. "Boring."

This guy is such an impertinent child.

* * *

><p>She knows he wants to say something… the way he keeps shifting, looking over at her from the passenger seat, as if he is uncomfortable in his own skin.<p>

_'Good_,' she thinks to herself. '_Body language seems to speak louder than words.'_

He'd remained quiet during the entire elevator ride after leaving Sandy Allen's apartment. Who knew that simply taking two steps away from that muscular body could be so effective.

Wait… _muscular?!_ She catches herself mid-thought, wide-eyed. She was _not_ thinking about his body._ She wasn't! _She shakes her head slightly as if erasing that visual from her mind is as easy as erasing a picture from an etch-a-sketch.

She chances a quick side-glance out of the corner of her eye, sees him rake his fingers through his hair like he does when he's frustrated... his soft, silky, perfectly coiffed hair that flops ever so slightly across his forehead like-

_Stop it! _Beckett catches herself again.

That's it. He has to get out of the car. Away from her. Now.

"I'll drop you off at home," she mutters, eyes staring straight ahead.

"What?" he whines. "But what about-"

"It's late," she interjects flatly. "I'm tired. That's it for tonight."

Castle pauses a moment, throwing her a sideways glance before he dares to speak again.

"You'll call me before you interview Maxwell Haverstock, right?"

Beckett doesn't reply, eyes fixed, face stoic.

She pulls up to his building, hitting the brakes with unnecessary force so that his body jerks forward - not enough to give him whiplash, but enough to shake him thoroughly. She represses a satisfied smirk as he cringes a bit, stepping out of her Crown Victoria.

"Fine," she mutters just before he shuts the door.

Standing on the sidewalk, watching her car speed away, a smug grin tugs at the edge of Castle's mouth before he pivots and greets his doorman.

* * *

><p>So… John Allen was a drug mule who was in over his head. Beckett shakes her head as she continues sifting through department records about known Russian mafia members.<p>

A guy in over his head… like a certain mystery writer she knows.

The idiot.

She doesn't know who he thinks he knows, but if he is under the impression that he can figure out where those floating poker games are being held because he's got "connections", she's got to start investigating who he hangs out with.

She scans through the information on her computer monitor, the dim light of her desk lamp casting an ethereal glow across her face - the soft illumination a physical juxtaposition of her current emotional turmoil.

Her momentary trance is shattered by the unexpected vibrating of her cell phone. She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, bracing herself for the inevitable. Forcing one eye open, she glances at the name that is displayed across the screen.

Ughh.

"Beckett," she answers, pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed, wincing as she pictures his cocky face on the other end of the line.

"Guess who's got a date at a poker game?" he practically sings.

Yeah. That exasperating, sing-songy tone?... it's getting old.

* * *

><p>She watches in silence as the boys get him hooked up for the operation. They go over the plan one more time, but none of this sits well with her. Not at all.<p>

"I'll be fine," the writer scoffs. "Besides, it's Chinatown. How many Russian poker players can there be?"

She cringes as he hops out of the van, carefree, like a young child playing hopscotch. Esposito tosses his coat in his face, but she can't bring herself to crack a smile. Not right now.

Because right now, she can't seem to repress the gnawing sensation swirling in the base of her gut. Sending Castle in… alone… The thought is making her more than queasy.

And the fact that he seems to think this is a game?...

She's going to kill him if he makes it out of there alive.

"Ryan?... do you mind?" she mutters, not even bothering to finish her statement.

The Irish detective silently acquiesces her request, switching spots with her to give her a better view of the video feed. Eyes locked on the button-cam images flashing on the TV monitor, she gently chews on her thumb.

Pulling her knee tightly to her chest, she can't help but voice her unease. "Anybody else have a bad feeling about this?"

She nods as the boys don't even hesitate to raise their hands. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

* * *

><p><em>"...I'm going to go sit at the table, see if I can find anything out."<em>

She wasn't entirely attentive to his inane ramblings until just now. "What did he say?" Her eyes widen as she glares at the monitor. Suddenly, he's got her complete attention.

"He just said he's taking a seat…" Ryan attempts to recap before Beckett cuts him off, unimpressed.

"That's not the plan. That's not the plan, Castle!"

Yeah… she's _definitely _gonna kill him if he makes it out of their alive.

* * *

><p>Her stomach continues to churn as she watches the scene play out. Castle making small talk with the mobsters, boasting about his books, practically giving away every single detail about her case.<p>

They're laughing at him… planning to take him for everything he's got. And she knows that it doesn't end with money. Not with the Russian mafia. He's in way too deep.

And now they know that their murderer is sitting right across from him.

Esposito speaks up first. "Hey, if he thinks Castle's a threat, he's…"

She doesn't have time to panic. "We gotta get him out of there, now."

She needs to improvise… and she has an idea.

* * *

><p>Ryan and Espo watch the video feed helplessly, staring down the barrel of a gun… a gun pointed straight at Castle's chest.<p>

_"Who are you?" _ a deep Russian voice echoes followed by the panicked voice of a certain author who believes himself to be James Bond. _ "I told you, I'm- I'm a novelist."_

"Dude," Ryan whispers, eyes locked on the screen, but seeing nothing, "what the hell is taking her so long?"

"I dunno, Bro," the Latino cringes, listening to the writer protest his innocence, "but she'd better show up soon or-"

Suddenly a familiar female voice echoes in their ears._ "Him, a cop? Don't make me laugh. He's barely even a man."_

"God, that Russian accent is hot," Espo mutters under his breath.

"Dude!"

Esposito shoots a slightly indignant and perturbed look at his partner. "What? It _is_!"

Ryan simply shakes his head, continuing to watch the monitor as he listens intently to the exchange, their suspect now in full view of the camera, gun still pointed at Castle's chest.

_"Okay. Boys and their guns,"_ a Russian Beckett scoffs._ "Am I supposed to be impressed?"_

"You can't tell me you don't find that hot," Esposito continues. "I mean-"

_"WHOA!"_ the two detectives suddenly clamor in unison as flashes of Beckett fill the monitor as she slams her fist into the Russian's face.

"Dude!" Ryan exclaims, rapt by the video feed. "She totally broke his nose!"

"So hot…" the Latino mumbles.

"You are _so_ gonna be single the rest of your life," Ryan sighs, shooting his partner an unimpressed glare.

_"Castle, could you get some backup, please?" _Beckett's voice echoes in their ears.

"And that's our cue…" Ryan yanks the headset from his ear as Esposito cocks his pistol.

"Let's go," the Latino nods in all seriousness as the two detectives hastily exit the van.

* * *

><p>Red.<p>

Good lord, her bra was red. Blood red.

And that accent.

Oh. My. God.

Could she be any sexier?

Thoughts of her perfect ass infiltrate Castle's mind as he weaves through the crowd in the main room. He can't seem to stay focused, visions of her tantalizing form filling his brain. So delicious...right there. Right in front of him. Taunting him. Teasing him. Testing him.

He had been so tempted to grab her… push her up against the door… rip that black sweater from her body… tangle her hair - her sexy, tousled, satiny hair - in his fingers… nibble his way down her neck, across her clavicle, between her breasts. Her perfect, luscious breasts.

He passes by the bar, making his way to the door. He can't breathe. It's too hot. He needs air.

Now.

Desperately throwing himself at the door, he tumbles on to the steps, practically falling into the laps of Ryan and Esposito.

"Where is she?!" Espo demands, grabbing Castle by the collar to ensure his attention.

"K-Kitchen," the writer stutters, pointing behind him as he inhales the cold, night air. "Kitchen."

The two detectives barrel through the door leaving Castle alone on the balcony, breathing laboured, surrounded by the overpowering scent of peanut oil and chicken wings as he desperately tries to regain his composure. Calm his body.

He's always found her attractive, that's no secret.

Sex… Sex and nothing more. That's all he wants from her.

...isn't it?

Well… definitely a source of literary inspiration. Friendship, maybe.

But the way she breathed his name into his ear, rolled the Rs when she uttered _'Richard'_, wrapped her hands over his shoulders, pulled him tight against her lithe body...

It suddenly feels like more.

And he didn't expect that.

And he has no clue know how to handle it.

* * *

><p>He hadn't even protested as he walked away. Left the precinct. Walked out of her life forever.<p>

At least he finally figured it out.

_"Sometimes we do the wrong things for the right reasons." _ That's what he'd said. Empty words.

What an arrogant, conceited, selfish asshole.

How can he honestly think that dragging her back into that rabbit hole is something she wants to do? She'd spent so long, worked so hard to put it behind her.

And then he goes and opens Pandora's Box.

And for what? So he can be a hero? So he can have more fodder for his novels?

What does he think she'd do? Throw him a parade? Sell her first-born child to thank him?

And then more platitudes poured from his lips. _"And you won't have to do it alone. We can do it together."_

Together. That's a laugh. What the hell does he know of doing anything _with _anyone. He just always does whatever the hell he wants without thinking of anyone other than himself.

Pompous bastard.

_"It's because you're afraid, isn't it?"_ His voice continues to echo through her mind, as if a broken record stuck on repeat.

_"...afraid...afraid...afraid...afraid…"_

What the hell does he know of fear? There with his millions, airheaded bimbos and celebutants throwing themselves at him, making money by making up pulp. He has no clue what it's like to live in the real world! To have hopes and dreams and ambitions... and then watch your life crumble into nothing!

She will _not_ let him make a mockery of her life… _of her!_

Her fingers whack the keyboard with such brute force that she almost breaks the Enter key.

She stops typing and leans back into her steno chair, closing her eyes, bringing her hands together to rest along her forehead - elbows extended beside her head - as she releases a long, belaboured exhale. The poor keyboard shouldn't have to bear the brunt of his unapologetic stupidity. She'd never hear the end of it from the I.T. guys.

Pencil and paper. Perhaps that would be the safest option for now. Pencils are cheaper to replace if she snaps one, and no chance of ink spilling on her clothes…

She loses herself - hides - in her paperwork, trying desperately to block out all thoughts of _him._ Minutes… hours tick by. Slowly, the bullpen clears out, the lights dimming, only a few uniforms working the night shift wandering the halls.

She goes over her case report for the seventh time, adding a few words, changing some phrasing, making it perfect… when her paper is suddenly cast in shadow. She doesn't even need to look up to know it's _him_.

Wow. He's got some nerve… coming back. Just standing there. Watching her do paper work. Not saying anything. And it's unsettling to say the least. But not quite creepy this time…

She debates looking up, torn - but after a brief moment of meditation, she steels herself. Tearing her eyes from her desk, she glances up at him, her hazel eyes cold and unfeeling - and she's slightly taken aback by what she sees.

Frailty. Honesty. Sincerity. It's written all over his face, his posture, in the depth of his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he utters, his words serious and genuine. "What I did was wrong. I violated your trust, I opened old wounds, and I did not respect your wishes. And if we're not gonna see each other again, then you deserve to know… I'm very, very sorry."

With that, Castle turns and begins to leave. She says nothing, words caught in her throat as she processes his earnest apology.

Just as he is about to exit the bullpen, she finds her voice. "Castle."

He stops in his tracks, turning around to face her, her eyes fixed on the paper on her desk.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Maybe he's not a complete bastard after all.

* * *

><p>xxxxxxx<p>

**So, as I said, my goal is to write a chapter of filler scenes for each episode of S2...**

**Not sure how quick this will happen, but I never abandon a fic. )**

**However, if it's been done already, someone ****_please_**** tell me so that I don't waste my time writing what someone else has already explored (...and then send me the link so I can read it!)**

xxxxxxx

**Thanks to Syzygy for being my sounding board… again. :)**

xxxxxxx

**And, as always, I love to know your thoughts.**

**Judge away. :D**


	2. The Double Down

**Typos are mine and mine alone.**

**If you find any, feel free to adopt them - everything deserves some love. Even typos. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>EPISODE 2 - "THE DOUBLE DOWN"<strong>

"Castle, I didn't call you…" Beckett states flatly, completely focused on her work as the writer strides towards her desk. "Why're you here?"

"Seriously, Beckett?" he remarks indignantly. "Full moon, police station… that's just a good time waiting to happen!"

She furrows her brow as she shoots him an unimpressed glare. Dork.

"You want entertainment, Castle? Try the Angelica…" she retorts, returning her attention to her paperwork. "They serve popcorn."

"Already got it covered," he smirks gleefully.

She quickly looks up only to watch him head towards the break room, an excited spring in his step. _'He didn't...'_

Watching him remove a packet of microwave popcorn from inside his jacket, she can't help but roll her eyes and shake her head before returning her focus to the stack of case files on her desk. _'Of course he did...'_

Not five minutes later, two uniforms step out of the elevator while attempting to restrain a man… a shirtless hippie wearing nothing but khakis and a cape who's raving like a lunatic and thrashing around wildly.

She chances a glance at Castle who is approaching her desk carrying a full bowl of popcorn, a stupidly huge grin adorning his face as he watches the officers struggle to control the maniac. _'Let the fun begin.'_

* * *

><p>Beckett grips the steering wheel firmly, releasing a long, deep exhale through her nose as Castle continues to rant incessantly about vocabulary and grammar...<p>

"I mean, really? Who screws up '_you're' _and '_your'__? _It's as bad as using the wrong '_there_'!"

"Castle-" she breathes.

He doesn't even pause, completely rapt in his own thought process. "Especially when you write it on the face of the person you just killed! What kind of a message does that send? _'Hello, I am a killer, but I am sloppy. I should be easy to catch. Come get me!_"

"Castle-" she tries again a bit more forcefully, but to no avail.

"Seriously, Beckett!" he shifts in his seat while waving his hand dramatically, not even heeding her interruption. "If you're going to leave a message after murdering someone, wouldn't you think that ensuring the message is grammatically correct would be of utmost importance? I mean-"

"_CASTLE_!"

His mouth shuts as she shoots him a death-stare. "You keep going with this little monologue and _I _will be writing a message on _your _dead body!"

"What part of my body?" he teases, eyebrows waggling mischievously.

She releases an elongated breath, returning her attention to the road, before muttering, "Wouldn't you like to know..."

* * *

><p>"Beckett, I'm serious," he pleads as he steps out of the elevator, trying to keep up as she bolts ahead of him towards the bullpen. "Proper grammar is important."<p>

She sits down quickly and pulls open the left drawer of her desk, hastily shuffling through some files... lifting a pad of paper... moving her little stick man to the side as she checks the very back of the drawer. Her head is pounding, and if she doesn't pop a Tylenol soon, she won't be held accountable for her actions.

Nothing in her desk. Crap.

"It's a lost art," he continues, not even missing a beat. "Too many people take it for granted. They just trust their computers to correct their mistakes. How sad is that?"

She buries her face in her hands, elbows propped on the edge of her desk as she mumbles, "Are you still talking?"

As he continues to natter away, his voice echoing loudly in the depths of her mind, she starts to wonder who she pissed off to get saddled with this infuriating man-child. What has the Universe got against her? What did she ever do to deserve such torture?

"It's not like you're just leaving yourself a note, you know, to buy bread on the way home," he persists as she attempts to massage the throbbing pain from her brain using her fingertips. Good lord, something… _make him stop_!

But he keeps going. "You're writing on a person you just murdered. You're trying to make a point. A point you care a great deal about, presumably, because you just killed someone to make it. So how do you not make sure that you're using the proper language to make that point?"

She's seriously wondering whether or not shooting him would be justifiable homicide when Ryan and Esposito enter just in time to save Castle from certain death.

"Frank Anderson, retired middle-school math teacher from IS 161," the Irish detective remarks, brandishing his notepad. "You want in?"

"Uh, no, thanks," she replies, holding up her ringing cell phone. "Full up."

She uses the welcome interruption to escape Castle's inane English lecture, leaving her desk to take the call.

"Hey Lanie…" she huffs.

"Hey... Is this a bad time?"

"No… No," the detective sighs. "Actually, you may have just stopped me from committing murder."

"Castle?"

"Castle," she sighs, glancing over at the writer who is now chatting with the boys.

"Girl, you should just kiss that man!..."

"Lanie!"

"...unless you particularly enjoy this sexual frustration."

Redirecting the conversation as she pinches the bridge of her nose, Beckett pointedly remarks, "You called for something?"

"Yes… just finished my prelim on the vic…" Lanie begins, but Beckett's mind is elsewhere. She wants to kill the guy. Rip his tongue out of his mouth and shove it where the sun don't shine. That's not really indicative of her wanting… well… _him_… is it?

She shakes the thought from her head as she attempts to concentrate on the phone call.

Murder. Case. Killer. Focus.

* * *

><p>"Did you seriously have to spit on your hand, Bro?!"<p>

Ryan sighs heavily as he opens up another computer file. "I- I got caught up in the moment," the Irish detective offers. "I'm sorry… for the twentieth time."

Esposito just releases a laboured breath as he keeps his back to his partner, pouring over Frank Anderson's phone records. "Whatever you say… Honeymilk."

Ryan just shakes his head at the remark, but bites his tongue. He's not going to win this one and he knows it.

The two detectives sit back to back in silence for a while longer before Esposito swivels his chair to face Ryan. "You know…" he begins, leaving a pregnant pause so that his partner becomes intrigued enough to turn as well. "Castle was awfully quick to agree to that bet…" he muses.

"He was indeed…" Ryan agrees with a mischievous tone. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we're a lock to win this bet…" the Latino smirks, narrowing his eyes, "so why not up the ante?"

"More money?"

"Nah…" Esposito ruminates, a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I got a better idea…"

* * *

><p>Alone in the bullpen... again... Beckett leans back in her steno chair, arms crossed against her chest as she purses her lips and stares hypnotically at her computer screen. The lights in the bullpen have been dimmed for the evening, the soft light from the bright moon washing through the window in the conference room.<p>

She's trying to stay focused on the case, but she can't get his voice out of her head. His deep, husky voice speaking words that spilled from his luscious, velvety lips… lips that she would love to ki-

_WHOA!_ Where did that come from?

She quickly shakes her head clear of such intrusive and unwelcome thoughts as she glances at her watch.

10:43pm.

She releases a deep sigh, looking around the dark and vacant precinct. She should really head home… get some rest. Evidently she needs it if she's starting to allow such disagreeable thoughts to eke into her mind.

Yeah. Sleep. A few hours of sleep will fix everything.

* * *

><p>Even though she's hiding it very well, Beckett starts to feel a bit of the morning fatigue after speaking to Brandy Rossi, especially when Karpowski confirms that her alibi is solid. But coffee can fix that pretty quick. She heads straight to the breakroom, by-passing the boys as they vacate the area after speaking to their victim's family.<p>

She grabs an NYPD mug off the counter. Ah coffee… caffeinated happiness in a cup. She can't help but whistle to herself as the liquid flows from the carafe into the mug. Putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate, she peers through the window, observing Castle talking with Ryan and Esposito. About their case, she supposes, though she has no idea what he would find so interesting about an ordinary pop-and-drop.

Not that it matters.

If he wants to annoy the boys, more power to him. Why should she care?

But he does look very happy about something… and this alone is enough to cause her concern.

As she heads back towards her desk, she can't help but roll her eyes as the writer starts to dance awkwardly. She can't quite make out what he's singing about, but she doesn't have a chance to find out as he practically runs her over, mouth gaping as he stares at her from only inches away.

"Hey," he remarks, his hands dropping hastily.

"Hey."

"I was just... Uh, they were... There was two…" he stammers.

She eyes him suspiciously. "Yeah."

He's guilty as hell about something.

* * *

><p>Castle can't believe what he's hearing. Are these guys for real? Trying to call his bluff? Him? A champion poker player? As if.<p>

No way he's worried. They want to up the ante… bring it.

"Not money," Esposito taunts, crowding Castle's personal space. "Humiliation. Loser wears a dress to the precinct for a week."

Castle's ridden a horse through Central Park in the nude. A dress is nothing.

"Why stop there?" Ryan adds, getting in the writer's face. "Loser also shaves his head. Or are you chicken?"

The insinuation causes Castle to pause for a moment as he looks over his shoulder at Beckett. His hair. His lovely, silky, impeccable hair…

Is he really willing to put his hair on the line... _for her_?

Yeah… he is. Because she's extraordinary.

"You're on, Honeymilk," he snaps, staring down the Irish detective before quickly leaving the boys, returning to the bullpen.

Okay…_ now _this is serious. Now his hair is on the line. His perfectly styled, soft, sexy hair. Not good. Not good at all.

"Is Evan Hinkle here yet?" the author asks, the words rapidly pouring from his mouth as he rushes to meet Beckett at her desk.

"Uh… yeah," she replies, cocking her head curiously, "Uniforms just brought him in about a minute ago."

He doesn't even pause as he pivots, hastily making his way towards Interrogation. "What're we waiting for then?"

Beckett raises an eyebrow inquisitively as she watches him speed across the bullpen.

Yeah… he's _so _up to something.

* * *

><p>She watches Castle head towards the breakroom as she turns her attention to the whiteboard. She tries to muddle over Jason Cosway's involvement in his wife's murder, but she can't shake thoughts of Castle's behaviour from her mind.<p>

The impatient questioning of Hal Ross.

Closing the elevator doors in Ryan and Esposito's faces.

Going all super-cop during Evan Hinkle's interrogation.

And then of course there's everyone else. Conversations halting when she approaches. Her co-workers suddenly watching her every move. Stegner's uncomfortable stuttering.

It's like there's a joke that the entire precinct is in on except for her… but that's about to change. Right now.

Her eyes narrow as she glances over at the breakroom, watching Castle take cash from a couple of detectives. _What the fuck?..._

"Son of a…"

He's a dead man!

* * *

><p>"Dude! I can't believe she found out about the bet!"<p>

"Just be glad she didn't shoot us, Bro."

"So… uh… do you think the bet is still on?" Ryan mutters, looking up from his desk.

"Dunno… why," Esposito mumbles as he clicks his mouse.

"Cuz Beckett just escorted Jason Cosway into Interrogation One," Ryan notes as he watches Castle close the door, the writer wiggling his eyebrows as he shoots the detectives a cocky grin.

The boys glance at each other quickly, frozen and wide-eyed, before scrambling out of their chairs, rushing into the observation room.

Beckett's hardened voice echoes through the speaker. _"You wanna tell us about last Friday?"_

"She looks like she's gonna rip his head off," Ryan mutters to himself, watching Beckett lean heavily into the table.

Esposito folds his arms across his chest. "Better him than us…"

"And what's with Castle? He looks so calm?"

"Dunno…" the Latino remarks curiously. "I haven't seen him take notes during an interrogation since last year."

As if he could hear them, Castle then presses his note pad against the two-way mirror, his short note letting them in on his little secret. Beckett's got a hundred dollars wagered. They're toast.

"How does he even know we're watching?" Ryan queries as he reads the message that Beckett is now in on the bet.

"Ah. No wonder she's going after him so hard," Espo muses.

"Shit…" Ryan mumbles as he runs his palm across his scalp. "I like my hair."

"You're worried about your _hair_, Bro? What about the _dress_?"

"Crap."

_"The only thing I remember is the fact that we were sitting there right behind the home bench," _Cosway asserts, not wavering on his alibi in the least.

"You ever have seats like that?" Ryan scoffs as he watches the interrogation unfold.

"Yeah, right," Espo laughs in response.

Suddenly Ryan looks over at his partner, Esposito realizing the exact same thing, and the two rush to the breakroom.

"If we can't solve our case just yet-" Ryan starts, picking up the remote.

"Let's poke a hole in theirs," Esposito continues, grabbing a couple bags of chips from the cupboard.

"I am _so_ not shaving my head…" Ryan mutters as he turns on the TV.

* * *

><p>Esposito's smug voice echoes through Castle's head as he rides up the elevator. <em>"Castle, what size dress do you wear? Six? Eight?... Sixteen?"<em>

How the heck did this happen? He was so sure they'd win the bet. He was so sure of _her_!

What the hell went wrong?

He releases a deep breath as he slides his key in the lock. Before turning it, a most disturbing thought enters his brain. Is he going to have to shave his legs too? Oh god.

He'll never get laid again if this gets out.

He closes his eyes as he rubs his palm against his face, covering his mouth and nose. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

He releases a long, heavy breath before turning his key agonizingly slowly. Cracking the door open, he spies around the edge, sweeping a brief glance through the living space. The coast is clear. Nobody's home. Entering the loft, Castle heads straight for the kitchen. He needs a drink. A stiff one.

His mind in a haze, he suddenly stops in his tracks, attention drawn by a pile of blue, green and white material draped across the back of a chair.

_'Maybe I can pull this off...'_ he ponders to himself, picking up Martha's dry-cleaned dress.

Looking at his reflection in the wine fridge as he holds the dress against his torso, he contemplates the vision of himself in drag, mesmerized by the frighteningly unmanly vision staring back at him. He's so entranced that he's startled by his daughter's voice behind him.

"Dad?"

Launching the dress to the floor, he pivots quickly. "Mm-hmm. Yes. You okay?"

Taken aback momentarily, Alexis thinks about asking about the dress… but decides not to bother. This is Rick Castle. The man who rides police horses in the nude and dresses up like a space-cowboy for fun. This is just another day in the life at _Chez Castle_.

And at this moment, he is _so_ thankful of that.

* * *

><p>Isn't this an interesting twist. Their cases are connected. Even Castle didn't see this coming...<p>

As the three detectives and the author head out of the precinct to hunt down Wesley Grovner, Castle dares to ask the question that's at the back of all their minds.

"Now that we're all working the same case, does that mean the bet's off?"

"Hell, yeah," Esposito affirms without missing a beat.

Castle releases a light sigh of relief as he unconsciously runs his fingers through his hair. Esposito rolls his eyes as he catches Ryan doing the same.

* * *

><p>So the bet is back on… and Jason Cosway just sits there, cocky smile on his face, as smug as can be. And he won't break.<p>

As the pompous suspect meets Beckett's intense glare, Castle wonders just how long she'd be willing to sit there and wait for him to crack.

The three sit in silence for a few more minutes - fierce stares not breaking - when a slight grin teases at the edges of Beckett's mouth. Castle follows her lead as she rises from her chair.

"Get comfortable, Mr. Cosway," she glares as she opens the door, "you'll be here a while."

Castle clenches his fist, suppressing the urge to shove it in Cosway's face, as their suspect just replies with nothing but an arrogant smirk.

The writer pulls the door shut behind him, gritting his teeth. "That guy is such a dog!" he huffs as Beckett turns to face him.

"Yeah… an Alpha," she states with a grin.

Following her train of thought perfectly, Castle's eyes twinkle as he smiles, "Right… and every Alpha needs an Omega…"

"...and he found Eric Marx…"

"...weak and malleable…" Castle nods.

"...the perfect patsy..." Beckett adds pensively.

"...and breakable," he grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Yep," she smirks in agreement, heading for Interrogation Two. "Follow my lead?"

"Right there with you," he assures as she grabs the door handle.

Wiping all emotion from her face, Beckett steels herself as she twists the door knob. Making a grand, forceful entrance, she bursts into the room, interrupting the boys.

"Good you know your rights, Eric, because your buddy Jason just rolled on you," she bluffs, a satisfied smile teasing her lips.

Castle can't help but be turned on a little… she's so hot when she lies to suspects!

* * *

><p>"New nickname, Ice-posito." Ryan lightly taps his partner with a folder in a congratulatory gesture.<p>

Those two… so full of it. Pretending as if they knew the plan the whole time. Beckett can't help but roll her eyes at the boys. They just can't accept that she and Castle broke their suspect… male ego being what it is. But she's knows better… even though those two jokers will never admit to it.

"Well, that's neither here nor there," Esposito remarks, "because we won the bet."

Castle raises an eyebrow at the insinuation. "How's that?"

"Our guy broke."

"Yeah," Beckett smirks, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Because we broke him."

"So what?" Ryan chimes in. "It's like soccer. You score in our goal, it's still our point."

"Soccer?" Beckett scoffs. "Really? You're going with that one?"

The Latino just shrugs. "Works for me."

The debate continues as they leave the precinct and head out for a well-deserved beer.

By the end of the evening, they settle on calling it even. Nobody will be coming in bald tomorrow.

And for some reason, they are all okay with that.

* * *

><p>xxxxxx<p>

**Had a bit of time this week… thought I'd tackle episode 2.**

**This one was not easy...**

**Hope you liked what I did with it.**

xxxxxx

**Love to know your thoughts.**

**Judge away.**


	3. Inventing The Girl

**EPISODE 3 - "INVENTING THE GIRL"**

He looks down, studying the body of the deceased woman. So young. So frail. Not that much older than Alexis. His stomach churns slightly at the notion, so he buries it away and covers his discomfort with bravado.

Castle cants his head slightly, only partially attentive to the detective and the medical examiner, as he speculates aloud. "Well, she's tall, she's gorgeous, ten pounds underweight. Her hair is fried, she's wearing too much eye makeup... She's a model."

Beckett shoots him a look as he continues. "Which means she was probably at a club last night. It is, after all, Fashion Week, when all the hottest women in the world descend upon the hippest nightspots like locusts." After a brief pause, he buries his own unease. "Only, locusts eat."

His theory is quite plausible, and she's inclined to agree with him… not that she would ever admit that out loud.

"Can you tell me who killed her?" Beckett quips, voice dry and indignant.

The writer shakes his head as the detective silences him quickly. "Then pipe down."

She continues to discuss the preliminary details with Lanie, but soon enough, her mind begins to race in a different direction as she and Castle leave the crime scene. He makes some kind of smart-ass remark about clothes being to die for and she smirks slightly in response, but his voice quickly becomes white-noise as thoughts of Matilda King permeate her mind. Albeit for only a brief period during her late teens, she had once been on a similar path as her victim. The clothing, the hair, the makeup… the sheer glamour of it all. And to get a call from Matilda King at the age of nineteen… January 1999…

Her life could have evolved very differently.

But her mother's murder changed everything. Redefined everything.

Castle glances at the quiet detective as the two approach her cruiser; she's evidently deep in thought… much more so than usual. There's something in her eyes that worries him. She looks haunted - and it's got him both curious and slightly concerned.

"You okay?" he whispers as he opens the passenger side door, a sincere gentleness in his voice.

Waking from her reverie, she looks up across the roof of the car, her eyes meeting his for a very brief moment before she looks down again quickly. "I'm fine," she mutters insistently as she climbs behind the wheel.

He remains standing beside the vehicle for a brief moment before sitting down on the seat. He watches her steel herself before she engages the engine.

She doesn't look at him.

She won't look at him.

He doesn't believe her… and she knows it.

* * *

><p>Beckett flashes her badge at the guard as they approach the stage door. He buzzes them in without a word.<p>

Castle follows his muse through the door - as per usual - and is immediately blinded by a sudden, bright flash of light.

Cameras… mirrors… loud music… glitter… sheer fabric… people yelling, rushing, bustling about.

Beckett targets a man who is fixing the hair of one of the under-fed models. She flashes her shield, catching his attention. "I'm looking for Teddy Farrow?"

The hair stylist doesn't even pause nor look up as he uses one hand to shove a bobby pin into the wild mess of hair - the model cursing as he carelessly stabs it into the back of her neck - the other hand curling into a fist, index finger pointing across his body at a blonde man on the other side of the room.

The detective nods her head, more thankful than ever that she didn't follow a career path as a glorified Barbie doll.

Taking a step in the direction of the designer, Beckett stops in her tracks, quickly looking around for her shadow. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes simultaneously - unable to suppress the smirk forming on her lips - as she spots the writer, eyes wide and mouth gaping as he gawks at the deluge of half-naked, under-weight, overly-made-up women parading around him. She's kind of surprised he's not drooling.

She bites her tongue to keep from laughing, wiping her amusement from her face as she calls him. "You coming, Castle?"

Quickly waking from his hypnotic daze to meet her embittered glare, one of her eyebrows raised, he stutters, "Y- Yeah.."

Convincing his legs to move from their frozen stance, he hustles to catch up to the detective as she approaches a gentleman in a bluish-grey suit who is chastising one of the models about the position of her belt as it rests on her hips.

"Mr. Farrow?" Beckett voices sternly, extremely happy she is not that model.

The man pivots sharply. "Who are you?" Farrow snaps, his accent harsh.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD," she identifies herself, holding up a photo of her victim. "Do you know this girl?"

The designer's face pales as he stares at the photo, tentatively lifting it from Beckett's grip. He stares at it for a few seconds, shocked, before he finds his voice. "That's Jenna. Jenna McBoyd. She was supposed to walk for me today. My God, what happened?"

Family, friends, boss. It didn't matter who she had to tell first... it never got any easier.

"She was stabbed sometime this morning."

* * *

><p>She slows to a stop at the red light, shooting a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye.<p>

"So…" she hums, an impish grin teasing her lips. "Rina…"

He looks up from the _Cosmo_ article, a smugly satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. "Jealous, Beckett?"

"_Excuse me?!_" she retorts with an indignant laugh.

"You _are_ jealous," he chides, making a show of placing the magazine on his lap.

"Jealous of what?!" she scoffs. "That you were hit on by an anorexic teenager?"

"Oooh! That reminds me," he pulls his cell from his pocket, "I should put her number in my phone."

Beckett accelerates a moment after the light turns green, pursing her lips together as her stomach flips. Is she jealous? Of what? Why the hell would she be jealous? She shoots him a quick glance again, not moving her head at all.

That damn _Cosmo_ magazine stares back at her from his lap. Stupid article.

She spies a ridiculous grin adorning his face as he plays with his phone. Stupid man.

But the flittering of her stomach won't subside. She exhales a long, belaboured breath. She's not jealous. She's not jealous. She's not jealous.

"So…" she presses her tongue into the side of her cheek. "How _do_ you know her, anyhow?"

"Uh, like I said… we met at a party," he stammers, quickly burying his face in the magazine once again.

"You don't remember her at all, do you?" she remarks dryly.

"Nope…" he admits sheepishly, placing special emphasis on the 'p'. "Not at all."

She quells her impending laughter as she presses her lips together tightly. Strangely enough, the inexplicable fluttering in her stomach dissipates instantaneously as well.

* * *

><p>Castle sits quietly as he watches the young man fall apart with grief. His wife has been murdered. Jenna McBoyd was someone's wife. Someone's lover. Someone's everything.<p>

And she was being stalked too.

"And you filed a report?" Beckett clarifies.

"Yeah. A dozen of them," Travis insists, his voice cracking as he becomes more irritable, "and every time you people said the same damn thing! That this is New York and you got more important things to do than to track down some annoying fan!"

The distraught husband has every right to be angry. His wife was being stalked and nothing was done. The police who took the call just wrote it off… the way they'd written off Johanna Beckett's murder as random gang violence.

The thought of it makes Castle queasy.

Beckett's face remains stoic. She is hiding it well, but he's observed her enough to know her tells. The slight twitch of her lip. The glassy look behind her eyes. She's enraged.

"And now she's dead," the husband chokes. "My wife is dead."

Castle's thoughts begin to wander. He finds himself pondering how he would feel if someone he loved more than life itself was taken from him. His mother… Alexis…

No wife.

Observing the intense anguish on Travis McBoyd's face... he wonders what it must be like to love someone like that. A passion so deep, so profound. Someone you chose. Someone you fell in love with.

Because he's never felt like that…

His eyes shift of their own volition to peer at Beckett for a brief moment before she looks back at him - blue and hazel eyes locked for a split second before she clears her throat, returning her attention to the grieving husband.

He's never felt that for Meredith… nor Gina…

But Beckett?…

He chances another glance at her - her perfect profile filling his sightline. Her silky, porcelain skin glowing in a way that demands to be touched. Her pink, luscious lips… the sexy little freckle under her eye... both crying to be kissed. Her long, swan-like neck….

_WHOA! _What the heck was_ that _about?!

He quickly shakes the notion from his head. Beckett is super hot, he's not denying that… but marry the woman? Hell no! No way!

Castle swallows sharply as Beckett ushers Travis out of the break room. He watches them make their way towards the elevator before he rushes to sink, quickly splashing cold water on his face.

He prides himself on his vivid imagination… But Kate Beckett? His _wife_?!

He wipes his face dry with a dish towel as he scoffs at the preposterous idea. Wanting to have sex with the woman doesn't mean he wants to _marry _her! It's ridiculous!

Ridiculous.

* * *

><p>She tosses her coat across the armrest and flops down on her couch. Eyes closed tight as she exhales heavily, she pinches the bridge of her nose with her finger tips. The Universe must really hate her.<p>

First she's haunted by her past.

Then she's haunted by that damn magazine article.

Now she's got to deal with a murder that might never have occurred in the first place if some freaking cops hadn't been so fucking lazy!

She leans back against the plush cushions, burying her face in her hands as her head falls back, accompanied by a belaboured sigh. This day needs to end. Now.

And the notion of a hot bath and a good book is sounding very appealing at the moment.

After turning on the faucets in her ensuite bathroom and adding some bubble bath soap to the warm, soothing liquid, she returns to her bedroom to peel out of her clothing… as if she's stripping off the weight of the day. Carelessly tossing her clothes on the floor, she rounds her bed to grab a book off her bookshelf… however, she freezes in her tracks as she spies his blue eyes staring back at her - as if they're studying her naked form.

_Cosmopolitan_ magazine. _His _cover. Sitting there on her bedside table. Taunting her.

Tempting her.

She motions to reach for it, stilling her movements for a brief moment before quickly grabbing the magazine before she can change her mind.

It's there. She needs _something_ to read. Might as well just read_ it_…

But only for professional curiosity, she tells herself.

Nothing more.

* * *

><p>Castle furrows his brow slightly as he shoots a quick glance at Beckett. She was pretty aloof when he met her at the morgue, and when she switched her phone to her left ear when he tried to eavesdrop on her conversation with Esposito - yeah, she's pissed at him about something.<p>

He opens his mouth momentarily to speak, but his words die in his throat as he sees a deep, steeled focus in her eyes.

He watches her bite her lip slightly, right hand gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter as she keeps her eyes locked on the road in front of her.

He nods his head once, ever-so-slightly, before finding his voice. "You okay?"

"Fine…" she replies, her voice stern.

"You sure?"

Her eyes narrow as she pulls into her parking spot in front of the precinct. "Mmhmm…" she mumbles.

Apparently he's done something to piss her off… again. But he usually knows what he's done. This time he's at a complete loss. He raises his eyebrows as he releases a deep sigh, shaking his head in confusion as he follows her into the elevator.

"You're positive everything's o-"

_"Castle!"_ The warning laced with the tone of her voice is enough to shut him up as the elevator doors close.

They ride up to Homicide in silence, Castle unsure of how to progress. He settles for leaning against the back wall as she focuses her attention on her cellphone's screen. He's not entirely sure if she's actually reading anything - but he has a sneaking suspicion she's trying very hard to look busy so that he doesn't attempt to talk to her.

He exhales a heavy yet silent breath as the back of his head presses against the NYPD crest on the wall. Doesn't matter with this infuriating, mysterious, intriguing woman... he just can't win.

She doesn't speak to him again until they exit the elevator… but, of course, she's all about the job.

"Do you find it odd Jenna had a stalker?"

Not the conversation he'd been hoping for, but it's an opening… and he'll take what he can get at this point. "No, not really. Why?"

"Well, she wasn't Heidi Klum. She hadn't even had a national campaign."

Their brief discussion about their unfortunate victim is cut short as he spots his glorious magazine article sitting open on her desk. He's so proud of it… and picks it up to read it again, a satisfied smile lining his face.

But she doesn't seem to share his sentiment.

Her voice is sober, her face betraying her discomfort. "It's fine."

Is this why she's mad at him? The article? That doesn't make sense. Everything that was written was extremely positive… and flattering.

He leans in, confused. "Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset."

"You look upset."

"Well, I'm not," she insists.

"But if you were upset, you would tell me, right?"

"I'm not."

"But if you were," he repeats.

Her voice is dry, but she can't quite mask her frustration. "It doesn't matter because I'm not upset."

But he doesn't have a chance to dig any deeper since the boys interrupt their _moment_… but it doesn't matter. She's mad because of something that was written in the article.

And he's going to find out what eventually.

* * *

><p>Esposito slaps his cuffs on Will James and steers him out of the ratty apartment, Ryan on his heels as they step out of the aged building.<p>

Shoving James into the back of their cruiser, Esposito slams the door, then turns to look at his partner, a confused look adorning his face.

"Know what's still buggin' me, Bro?"

Ryan doesn't reply with words - simply gives his partner an inquisitive glance.

"How Beckett knew about that comp card."

Ryan nods in agreement, his response playful. "It _is_ an interesting mystery."

Esposito rounds the back of the car, grasping the driver's side door handle. "And what kind of detectives would we be if we didn't investigate?"

"What kind of detectives, indeed?" the Irishman confirms with a smirk.

"Call her dad when we get back?"

Ryan nods enthusiastically with a sly grin, opening the passenger door. "On it."

* * *

><p>Castle remains uncharacteristically silent, elbow resting on the passenger side window ledge of her Crown Victoria, lips resting on a loosely curled fist.<p>

His silence is welcome, yet slightly disconcerting considering she was subjected to an interrogation about that damn article less than an hour ago.

She throws a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "You okay?"

"Yeah…" he mumbles into his fingers.

"You sure?"

He sighs heavily, like he wants to say more, but he settles on repeating himself on a loaded breath. "Yeah…"

"You gonna be okay to go in with me to talk to Will James?"

He continues to look out the side window. "Yeah," he mutters.

For a man who makes his living with words, he sure seems to have an issue with variety at the moment.

"This about the case?"

"Yeah…" he sighs, then follows up with, "...no."

Okay, something's on his mind… and it's about a lot more than that magazine article.

* * *

><p>"Yo! Tech was able to recover some of the deleted photos from Will James' camera."<p>

Ryan looks up from his computer at his partner who is approaching their desk area. "Anything interesting?"

"See for yourself, Bro." Esposito hands him the manilla envelope, an amused smirk on his face.

Ryan shuffles through the pictures quickly. "Just pictures of Jenna at home… nothing all that interesting."

"Still…" the Latino muses, "I think Beckett'll want to see these right away."

"She and Castle still at the Teddy Farrow fashion event?"

Esposito flashes his partner a wide, toothy smile as he raises his eyebrows devilishly. Free food and half-naked models? Ryan smiles mischievously in reply, grabbing the envelope and the car keys from his desk.

Espo quickly yanks the keys from his partner's grip, heading to the elevator. "I'm driving."

Ryan just rolls his eyes as he hastens his pace to catch up to this partner. The Latino presses the down button before turning to face Ryan as the doors open. "You call her dad yet, Bro?"

"Uh-huh," Ryan grins, pressing his tongue firmly into the side of his cheek as he steps into the elevator.

Esposito follows him inside, pressing the button for the ground floor. "And?..."

"And pictures are on their way," he smirks as the elevator doors shut.

* * *

><p>Rina's information about Sierra Goodwyn was a great help… even though Beckett teased him a few times on the way back to the precinct about him having been hit on by Alexis' former babysitter. At least she figured out why he's been brooding.<p>

But that's neither here nor there at the moment.

He can see that Beckett is holding it together… doing everything she can not to explode at Teddy Farrow as he rants about the embarrassment and spectacle she caused by arresting his top model. How his entire spring collection will now be tainted due to the controversy and scandal.

"A girl is dead, Mr. Farrow," she remarks sternly. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"It doesn't mean my business should suffer," the designer replies indignantly.

And Castle thought _he _was shallow at times. He's got nothing on Teddy Farrow.

Beckett attempts to calmly put things in perspective. "They're just clothes."

"Just clothes, Detective?" Farrow retorts. "Clothes are civilization. Clothes are what separate us from animals."

Castle ponders the man's impassioned speech, noticing how Beckett too is considering the weight of his words. He makes a valid argument.

"Not always," she counters, meeting the designer's eyes with a cold stare.

She quickly pivots on her heel and makes her way towards Interrogation One before Farrow has the opportunity to argue. Speechless, the designer watches the detective for a brief moment before he turns to glance at Castle, a stunned look adorning his face. The writer simply ignores the man and follows Beckett without a word.

She makes a valid argument too.

* * *

><p>He could tell she was frustrated by the way her teeth dug into her bottom lip. This was not her playful, taunting lip bite. This was the bite that indicated she was keeping herself from throttling someone.<p>

He'd ask if she was alright, but he knows she isn't… and he's not ready to take another verbal beating today. So he mirrors her position - he sits in silence in the passenger seat of her car, staring forward, observing the chaos of the hectic Manhattan traffic as they make their way to Wyatt Monroe's apartment.

"It just…" she starts, breaking the silence before catching herself and falling silent again.

Castle waits a few beats before slowing angling himself to face her. "What?" he prompts softly.

"Farrow… clothes… it just pisses me off!" She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, controlling her blatant frustration.

Castle says nothing, sitting silently, simply waiting for her to let it out. Let out what she really wants to say.

"I mean…" She pauses for a few seconds, shaking her head. "When did clothes become more important than human life?!" She grits her teeth, turning her head to meet his eyes for a brief moment.

Castle meets her intense gaze before he turns his head to refocus on the road. She does the same. The two sit in silence again.

He likes looking good and dressing well as much as she does.

But if clothes make the man… is the man worth anything on his own?

He inhales heavily through his nose… because he has no answer.

* * *

><p>It made him sick to his stomach. Watching the young man sitting there across from Beckett, an emotional wreck as he admitted to killing his own wife.<p>

Castle could hardly bear to look at Travis as he listened to the recording of his wife's voice, pleading to the photographer… crying out for her husband.

"Home," Beckett whispers at the distraught young man, stopping the voice recording. "She was trying to go home... to you."

There's nothing more to say.

Castle leans against the two-way mirror, staring blankly, as Beckett proceeds to read Travis McBoyd his Miranda rights. The writer continues to listen, but he simply cannot not bring himself to look at the two other people in the room. Beckett's voice fills the space amidst the sobs from the broken young man.

A man who murdered his wife to stop her from leaving him.

Castle's earlier thoughts about loving someone so much that it would tear you up inside re-entered his mind. Meredith had cheated on him. They divorced. And he was not at all upset. Not in the way Travis is shattered.

He loved Meredith. He must have. They created Alexis.

But listening to the young man bawling, his head buried in his arms on the table, Castle starts to wonder. Maybe he never loved Meredith. Maybe he never even loved Kyra… after all, he didn't fight for her.

A thought starts to float through his mind… a notion he has never once considered to be plausible until now.

Maybe he's incapable of giving himself fully to someone. Of really loving someone.

Of giving away his heart.

He's suddenly snapped from his trance as he hears the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat. Spinning around, he's met with the sight of Beckett, holding the door open, summoning him with a slight nudge of her head.

"You comin'?"

He exhales slowly, nodding his head affirmatively, as he follows her out into the hall. Shutting the door behind him, he fights to find his voice. Find his composure.

"That was a risky bluff," he notes, finding safety in discussing the case. "Threatening to play a recording we didn't even have."

"It didn't seem like a risk to me," she explains nonchalantly. "He loved his wife very much. He wouldn't want to relive her death."

He's silent for a second, considering the profundity her words. He doesn't think he was ever that emotionally invested in either Meredith or Gina. What does that say about him?

Crossing through the bullpen, they sit down at her desk - Beckett in her chair, Castle in the one beside her desk. He smiles to himself, starting to feel like he belongs there.

That he fits… He's never had that feeling before.

And now she's even asking about Nikki Heat… what her alter-ego would do after a long day. Perhaps she's not so angry about the article after all.

"She'd go home," he muses, "pour a stiff drink, run a hot bath, read a good book."

Beckett ponders his suggestion, but dismisses it nonchalantly, scrunching her nose in a way he finds adorable. "Too bad I don't have a good book to read."

"Mmm…" he shrugs carelessly. "I'd let you have _Heat Wave_, but my publisher doesn't want any copies leaking out."

"Why'd you let that _Cosmo_ reporter read it, then?"

"Well, that's for publicity purposes. You know, you want the press to have a little taste of…" he begins to justify before he clues in, noticing her sly glance. "Wait, whoa. Is... is that why you've been so upset? Because I let her read it before you?"

"I am the inspiration," she counters. "I should be reading it before a reporter does."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Why didn't you just give it to me?"

He's flabbergasted. "Why didn't you ask?"

"Why didn't it occur to you?"

Castle stops, words dying in his throat. Shaking his head slightly, he remarks, "You'll have it by tomorrow."

"Good."

"Good," he echoes.

Shaking off his initial consternation, Castle can't help but be a bit excited. She's a fan and she wants to read his book. He can't help but grin to himself as he heads towards the back stairs.

It's not a huge victory, but he'll take it.

* * *

><p>Beckett sits at her desk, unable to suppress the smug smirk from forming on her face. A new novel, written by her favourite author, and she's the inspiration.<p>

And she's going to be able to read it early.

It's not a huge victory, but she'll take it.

* * *

><p>"Yo…" Esposito taps Ryan's shoulder as he watches the writer exit the bullpen, "Castle's leaving."<p>

"Sending… now." Ryan clicks his mouse and immediately looks up at Beckett's desk.

Esposito slaps the side of Ryan's bicep with the back of his hand as the boys enjoy the show, watching as the satisfied grin on Beckett's face quickly vanishes the moment she looks at her computer screen.

"Touch down…" the Latino murmurs.

Ryan flashes a stupidly joyous grin at his partner before he returns his attention to his boss, watching her lean in closer to the monitor, her facial expression one of utter disbelief.

"Looking good, Detective Beckett," Esposito teases as he leans back in his chair.

Her head bolts up, head in a daze as she's met by the smirks of the two clowns.

"How did you guys...?"

"We're detectives," Ryan replies, as Esposito adds at almost the same moment, "Called your dad."

"Okay. Okay." She rushes over to their desks. "You guys have had your fun. I was seventeen and I thought that…" she lowers her voice to a whisper, gritting her teeth, "_modeling_… would be an easier way to make money than waitressing."

"Riiiiiiiiiight," Esposito mocks.

"It was one summer, no big deal," she counters, turning back towards her desk before she snaps her fingers and spins around, the threatening glare of impending death in her eyes. "And if you guys tell Castle about this, I will kill you."

Because she doesn't need him ogling and taunting her more than he already does… she really doesn't.

Really.

* * *

><p>xxxxxx<p>

**So ends episode 3… only 21 to go.**

**Hope you liked it.**

**Judge away. **


	4. Fool Me Once

**So I originally accidentally attached this to the wrong fic... *le blush***

**I blame the fact that I was still flailing over 6x15. (Weak, I know... Go with it)**

**It's in the right place now. **

**Thanks to those who pointed out my error.**

* * *

><p><strong>EPISODE 4 - "FOOL ME ONCE"<strong>

She adds a final detail to her case report, glad that this one is finally put to bed, when her phone rings. Picking it up off her desk, she presses the receiver to her ear. "Beckett."

As she listens to dispatch list the details of the latest murder, she snaps her fingers, grabbing the attention of the boys. They immediately grab their coats off the backs of their chairs as she hangs up. "We got one. Miller Preparatory School."

Ryan's head jolts suddenly, his voice cracking. "Kids?"

"No…" She quickly explains how their victim was killed while video streaming a call from the Arctic.

Esposito smirks as they make their way to the elevator. "Oooh, Castle's gonna love this one."

Beckett suppresses a sly grin as she dial's Castle's cell. She feels her stomach flip a little at the sound of his voice on the other end. _"Castle."_

"On our way to a scene," she states flatly into the speaker, trying to control the fluttering in her core. "Miller Preparatory. Midtown."

_"Got it."_

She quickly ends the call before the writer has a chance to say anything else. As she and the boys step into the elevator, she exhales slowly, releasing whatever is causing her stomach to flutter.

Why the hell her body does that when she talks to Castle, she has no idea.

It's not like she's attracted to him.

* * *

><p>Pemmican.<p>

A guy was murdered in front of a bunch of six-year-olds and the man is thinking about beef and grease. What the hell is wrong with him?

She chances a side glance at the writer as they head to Steven Fletcher's apartment. She's caught off guard as she's met by a smoldering grin and cobalt blue eyes staring back at her. She stomach starts to flip again. _What the hell?!_

"What?" she snaps defensively.

"Nothing…" he muses with a playful smirk.

Her eyes narrow as she turns her attention back to the road. "_Castle."_

"Just wondering what you've been up to lately," he grins. "Do anything fun this weekend?"

She raises an eyebrow inquisitively as she turns off Amsterdam on to 79th. "We're investigating a murder and you want to engage in small talk?"

He shoots her a heated smirk. "Why?... Do you have other ideas that might give us something to do with our mouths?"

She simply rolls her eyes as she shuts off the motor and exits her cruiser. This guy is incorrigible.

As she and Castle follow Ryan and Esposito into the building, she wonders if she's coming down with something because the uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach does not seem to be going away.

* * *

><p>On the car ride back to the precinct, Beckett verbalizes some questions about the case, Fletcher, the whole Arctic set up in his living room. And in typical Castle-esque fashion, the writer throws out a couple of wildly entertaining theories.<p>

"Former KGB agent who was infiltrating the American school system to brainwash kids in their cognitive years with the ultimate goal of raising an army of super soldiers in the future… the Soviet Union returning to their former glory by conquering countries from within! Oooh! That's good..." he exclaims with childlike zeal. "I'm writing that one down!"

She rolls her eyes with scorn, an unimpressed look glazing over her face as he pulls a notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins to write furiously.

She'd laugh if she didn't find it so endearing… seeing her favourite author's imagination at work… imagining his brain whirring as he spins an intricate tale for the enjoyment of his readers… thinking about his strong fingers as they fly across his computer keyboard… how they would feel tangled in her hair… touching her skin… stroking along her… _WHOA! Stop! _Those thoughts have no business in her head! No business at all!

"You okay?" His deep voice pulls her attention back to the car… the road… driving.

"Fine," she retorts with a bit more bite than intended.

"You sure? Your face was getting a bit red," he observes.

"Must be coming down with something," she counters flatly, eyes locked on the road in front of her.

_"Mmhmm…"_ she hears him hum quietly as he continues to write on his notepad.

Good god, she blushed… and _he_ saw it.

Fuck.

* * *

><p>As soon as they exit on to the Homicide floor, she bolts towards the bullpen as quickly as possible without looking like she's running. Her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults while they rode up in the elevator, and the only thing she can do is ignore it. Keep working. Hope it will go away.<p>

She doesn't have time to get sick… if that's what this is.

Castle, however, doesn't follow her. She stops in her tracks while in the hallway, looking around briefly at her desk area, but is distracted as one of the uniforms hands her the passports that are now in evidence bags.

"A couple of US passports…" she mutters to herself as the female cop heads off in a different direction. "See ya."

She shuffles through the various items clutched in her hands, momentarily engrossed in the case, before she hears his familiar voice just behind her.

"Oh, oh, oh…"

She glances to her right just in time to see a coffee mug being placed in her hand. Coffee. He made her a coffee. How the hell this guy can be so annoying and yet so thoughtful at the same time is an enigma. She's momentarily taken aback as she wraps her hand around the warm mug, but doesn't allow her voice to waiver at all.

"Oh... thank you."

"So, have you read it?" he prods.

She's a bit confused by this left turn in the conversation. "Read what?"

"The book," he insists.

Ahhh… so that's why he was asking about what she'd been up to. Wants to have the upper hand. But she's better at this game.

"What book?" she retorts.

Castle shoots her an indignant look and she knows immediately that she's got him hooked.

"Oh! _Your_ book," she relents with an exaggerated tone. "_Heat. Wave_."

She gives him nothing more and knows that the suspense will eat at him. He breaks first. "Well?"

"I haven't gotten to it yet," she lies, watching the spark in his eyes dim, his bright facial expression flatten slightly.

Stringing him along… Yeah. This is going to be fun.

* * *

><p>Beckett didn't think anyone had more of an overactive imagination than Castle.<p>

Until she met Patty Schultz.

Sitting across from the woman in Interrogation One - listening her talk about killing Steven Fletcher in her mind using a belt sander and her concern for Mr. Muffins' high cholesterol - the detective is sure Castle has met his match.

…and that this whole interview is a waste of time. "Okay… thank you. We're done."

But motioning to rise from her chair, Castle halts her movements, palm of his hand gently brushing her shoulder. "How did- how did Mr. Fletcher con you?"

She doesn't quite catch the next bit of the conversation - something about cats and cryogenics - because chills rush along her spine and that damn fluttering returns in her stomach.

She kind of tunes out during the back and forth between Castle and the crazy cat lady, trying to stay engaged, but the woman is nuts and her stomach is doing acrobatics that she'd like to control.

So when Schultz asks to see Fletcher's body, not only does she need to get out of that room - fast - but she also wonders if there might be something stiff she can add to her coffee this morning.

Of course, Writer Monkey is having a field day. "You know, I can't help but be a little impressed with our boy Fletcher," he remarks after shutting the door behind him.

"Please tell me you're kidding," she retorts, voice laced with cynicism.

Yep. It's going to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

><p>"Steven wasn't like that," Elise Finnigan insists, tears welling in her eyes. "He loved me for me."<p>

Castle looks across at Beckett, observing her purse her lips together, withholding some counter-argument that the detective really wants to express. But instead, all she says is, "I'm sorry," her voice genuine in its tone.

He remains quiet as they shake the hands of both Elise's mother and friend, accepting the kindly nod from her father - his arms wrapped around his distraught daughter - as they head to the door.

As much as Castle is impressed by Fletcher's abilities as a con-man, he continues to be more and more impressed with Beckett's empathy as not only a cop, but as a human being. How she deals with the frustration and anger from the friends and family of the victims as she tries to bring them closure.

If he can manage to capture even an iota of her depth while developing Nikki Heat in any subsequent novels that he might get to write, he'd be amazed.

"I can't believe how naive she's being," the detective grits as they exit onto the sidewalk, waking him from his momentary meditation. "Even with overwhelming evidence that her fiancé was a con-man, she still believes he loved her."

"People see what they want to see..." he begins, various thoughts racing through his mind. He just hopes and prays he gets the chance to write more Nikki Heat books… because he really wants the opportunity to help others see what he sees... in her.

Because she's extraordinary.

* * *

><p>Returning to the precinct, they find Ryan and Esposito still poring over files and digging through Fletcher's life.<p>

"Any luck?" Beckett asks as she drapes her coat across the back of her chair.

"Nah," Esposito replies, pivoting in his chair to face her. "Just one dead end after another."

"Yeah," Ryan adds, not looking up from his file. "This guy's aliases had aliases!"

Castle raises his eyebrows at the thought, even more impressed with the con-artist. Beckett releases a heavy exhale, eyes wide as she spies the mound of new files spread across the surface of her desk.

"Okay," she sighs decisively. "How'bout we order in… looks like this might take a while."

Castle's already got his cell out while she's speaking. "What do you like on your pizza?" he inquires, lifting the phone to his ear as he looks over at Beckett.

But Esposito beats her to the punch. "Anything, Bro… just so long as you're payin'."

"No anchovies, though," Ryan insists, gathering his files.

"Definitely no anchovies," the Latino echoes.

"And no hot peppers..." Ryan adds.

Esposito nods in agreement. "Maybe some sautéed onions…"

"Ooooh… bacon strips..."

Espo offers his fist for Ryan to pound as Castle interrupts their banter. "How about I just get a Combo and a Meatlover's?"

Esposito just shrugs, picking up the last of his files. "Whatever you want, Bro. Your money."

Castle just shakes his head as he places the order, and Beckett suppresses an amused smirk, biting her tongue as she sits down at her desk, the boys dragging their chairs over to join her.

About forty minutes later, Ryan makes room for the pizza boxes as the four hunker down around Beckett's desk, sifting through everything they were able to dig up on Steven Fletcher.

The enticing aroma of fresh pizza draws the Captain out of his office. "What'cha got?"

"Trying to find a clue to the con that killed Fletcher," Beckett replies, looking up from her file to address her boss, "but it looks like our guy was a criminal over-achiever."

But that only makes the testosterone in the room more potent as the boys vocalize how impressed they are with Fletcher's ability to con people out of their money.

"Don't be so impressed," Beckett remarks, taking a piece of bacon from atop the pizza. "The guy was a criminal."

"I don't know. There's something about a- a well-played con that just makes you want to tip your hat, though," Castle retorts, Ryan nodding in agreement. "And they have such great names. _The Spanish Prisoner... Pig-in-a-Poke… The Pigeon Drop_."

Montgomery's face teems with excitement. "Oh, I love a good con movie. _House of Games_, _Catch Me If You Can_."

Beckett releases a thick sigh, returning her focus to the files on her desk as the boys proceed to do their worst Steve Martin impressions.

"How about you, Beckett?" Ryan asks. "What's your favourite?"

Oh, he is _not_ dragging her into this macho-fest.

"I hate con movies," she replies flatly, a statement that is met with a chorus of shocked "_What"s _from the men.

"How can you hate _The Sting_?" Castle whines. "It like... what, took 20 Oscars?"

Yeah… pushing his buttons seems to be working just great. But whatever faults she points out about Fletcher, the boys continue to be impressed with the extent to which the con-man went to pull off his scam - even Montgomery.

"Now who's the sucker?" she mutters, her brain lagging slightly behind her mouth as she realizes who she's addressing. A stark silence falls over the five individuals as Montgomery gives her a loaded look, Esposito and Castle deliberately looking away. "Sir," she adds sheepishly.

Montgomery lets it go there, bringing the focus back to the case. "Sucker or no sucker, clearly there's more to this guy than meets the eye."

The Latino yanks on Beckett's chain as their Captain leaves, ducking quickly as Beckett flings her pencil across the desk at him. "Shut up, Esposito."

She pushes back from her desk as the boys refocus their attention on the papers in front of them. "Alright, I'm gonna leave you guys to it."

"Where are you going?" Castle asks as he shuffles his papers. "It's early."

They like con movies… and she's pulling off the best con of them all. And the writer doesn't have a clue. "I've got plans."

She has a date… with a certain smart, savvy, kinda-slutty fictional female NYPD detective… not that he's ever going to find out.

As she steps into the elevator, she overhears Castle mutter, "_The woman hates con movies."_

_'Oh, Castle,' _she muses to herself as the doors begin to close,_ '…you have no idea.'_

* * *

><p>The boys finally call it a night around 8:00pm as they still haven't been able to find anything about Fletcher that might help narrow down who might have killed him.<p>

Not that Castle really cares, because his mind has been elsewhere since Beckett left a few hours ago.

A date.

She had a date. _Has_ a date.

With some guy. Some guy who has no business spending time with his muse. She's probably dressed up in some form fitting dress that is hugging her perfect curves. One that ends just below her knees, showcasing her long, silky legs. Something with thin straps, revealing the supple skin of her shoulders.

She's probably at some fancy restaurant right now… giggling over the rich chocolate mousse that he's just scooped into his spoon, holding it out as an offering of something more tantalizing. More promising. He's probably eyeing her luscious mouth right now as she wraps her velvety lips around the edge of the spoon, humming with sensual lust as the rich dessert explodes against her taste buds, the pleasant effects of the now empty bottle of red wine buzzing through her veins.

And she'll kiss him. She'll kiss him goodnight… maybe even invite him up to her place, and…

He shakes his head, trying desperately to erase the visual of her date from his head. But his writer's imagination is running wild, racing, filing his brain with the taunting reality that Beckett is probably in the company of someone right now. Someone who is conning her... filling her mind with lies and selling himself as someone good enough for her.

Someone who is not him.

The notion makes his stomach churn… but not because he is jealous in a romantic way. No. No way.

It's because she is his muse. His _muse._ That's all.

He doesn't even remember going home, but his mind is brought back to reality as he hears the semi-melodic tones of violin music coming from up stairs. Alexis. Violin lessons. Model-wanna-be Dylan… probably filling his precious daughter's head with lies.

He should have Dylan checked out… he knows a guy at Juilliard. And people in law enforcement.

But after Dylan leaves, bringing this up with Alexis backfires. He watches helplessly as his daughter storms off, slamming her bedroom door.

Utterly flustered, Castle looks at his mother for answers. "What's going on with her?"

"Besides your unreasonableness? Hormones," Martha points out flatly. "What's your excuse?"

What's his excuse indeed.

If he could stop thinking about the women in his life being led astray by men who aren't good enough for them, things would be much better.

* * *

><p>She'd managed to read most of the first six chapters of <em>Heat Wave<em> last night before sleep overtook her, dreams of Nikki and Rook floating through her subconscious.

Well… the dreams started out as Nikki and Rook, but Rook began to look an awful lot like Castle as the dreams progressed, and Nikki morphed to look an awful lot like herself. And the sexual tension between the two permeated her mind, the scenes so vivid she could almost feel his breath on her skin as the journalist invaded the detective's personal bubble time and time again.

Her heart began to race as Castle's heavenly blue eyes locked on hers as the two stood at the balustrade of Matthew Starr's apartment. She leaned in, only to have the scene change. She was now in her tub, thinking about the writer. The words from one of the last pages she read flashed through her head: "_What would it be like? How would he feel and taste and move?"_

And then the image of Castle is all she sees… feels… moving in… large hands splaying widely on her hips… sliding up along her torso… his mouth next to her ear… his heavy breath sending electricity jolting to her core. His hand brushes a loose tendril of hair off her cheek, gently tucking it behind her ear as he leans in… she can almost taste him… and...

Beckett's eyes flash open. _What the fuck was that?_ She quickly takes in her surroundings. Her bedside lamp is still on, _Heat Wave _laying open but face down on her comforter. It wasn't real. It was the book.

It was just the book.

She lays in bed, wide-eyed, for a few more minutes - torn about whether or not to close her eyes. Because if she closes her eyes, that dream might resume. And she doesn't want it to.

She doesn't.

Really.

She looks over at her alarm clock, the hands indicating it's not yet 6:00am. But she chooses to get up anyway. Perhaps a rigorous sparring session will clear _him_ from her mind.

* * *

><p>After spending about an hour taking her frustrations out on the heavy bag and then going a few rounds against one of the uniforms from Vice, Beckett's cell begins to chime.<p>

"Beckett," she answers, exhaling heavily into the speaker.

"Uhhhh… did I… did I interrupt… something?" Castle's voice is hesitant, worried even.

"I'm working out, Castle," she retorts. "Whad'ya want?"

"Oh! You're here already…" He sounds shocked… and somewhat relieved. "I've had a breakthrough about the case."

The detective simply rolls her eyes as she swallows a mouthful of water. "Fine… I'll be right down."

Moments later, clad only in her tight yoga pants and form-fitting tank top, she emerges from the front stairwell. "Okay, Castle," she exhales. "What was so important that you had to cut my sparring session short?"

"Just that I cracked this case wide open." He looks up from the brochure to eye Beckett - a sweat-glazed, heavy-breathing Beckett. God, she's sexy. "You know, the thought of you fighting in a ring with another woman...strangely arousing."

"Who says I was sparring with a woman?" she counters quickly.

"Oh, your mystery date."

Interesting… She opts to poke him a bit more. "Oh, do I detect some jealousy?"

"Me,_ jealous_? Ha! Double ha," he cracks.

He's so hooked. So she goes in for the kill. She leans in close, lips inches away from each other. His sweet breath permeating her senses. His deep blue eyes reading the depths of hers.

"What if I told you that my date was with your book?" she teases, lingering in front of him.

"Really?" But the vivid memory of her dream re-enters her mind. And he's right in front of her… like the Universe is playing with her. Tempting her.

She quickly regains control of the situation. "No," she retorts, quickly pulling away.

But the lingering sensation of his body so close to hers remains… and that damn flutter in her stomach comes back.

She's usually better at the game than this.

She doesn't quite understand why she's not in control… because this is about teasing him.

Stringing him along.

Nothing else.

* * *

><p>As they leave the Finnigan residence once again, Gerry Finnigan's pistol secured in an evidence bag, Beckett ends her call with Ryan. "Okay, the boys are going to track down Kurt Lopez and bring him in."<p>

"You think the P.I. Finnigan hired will have found anything about Fletcher that we didn't?" Castle inquires.

She shrugs loosely, opening the driver's side door of her car. "Worth a shot."

During the drive back to the precinct, the writer and the detective discuss the case and nothing but… however Castle can't help feeling as if Beckett is uncomfortable about something.

There's nothing she's doing or saying to alert his senses - more like what she's not doing and not saying. She seems guarded. Careful. More so than usual.

The elevator ride up to Homicide is ridden in almost complete silence before Beckett breaches the intense quiet.

"It doesn't add up." Castle turns his head to look at her inquisitively before she continues, stepping out of the elevator. "Fletcher changing his ways so quickly? I don't buy it."

Castle follows down the hallway, curious about her thought process. "You think it's possible that Fletcher was telling Gerry the truth?"

"That he's suddenly a con-man with a heart of gold? No. That's just another con."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don't think people can change?"

She doesn't even flinch. "No." He's taken aback by her immediate and decisive response. Shocked even.

"I've seen too many repeat offenders to believe for one second that a guy who promises never to beat his wife again actually won't," she clarifies.

"That's a pretty bleak attitude," he points out.

"Not bleak," she insists. "Realistic."

She ends the conversation then and there, heading to her desk - but Castle remains in the hall, processing the immense weight of her words.

She doesn't think people can change.

Does she even see that her father changed after the death of her mother… how he turned to the bottle, but then gave it up for her. And what about how she changed? The case consumed her for years, and she had sought out therapeutic assistance to let it go. To become the woman she is now.

People can't change. He shakes his head at the thought. That can't be true… because he's changing. He's changing every day. In little ways. For her.

But she's not seeing it.

Or doesn't want to.

* * *

><p>Beckett grips the steering wheel tightly as she presses down heavily on the gas pedal. Jim Wheeler. First grade teacher. Conning his own students.<p>

How low can one person get?

She pulls up in front of the school, pounding her foot on the brake pad with unnecessary force.

Castle's body jerks against the seatbelt strap as the car comes to a stop. "You okay?"

"Fine," she grits through her teeth. "It's just… guys like Wheeler piss me off. Wearing masks. Pretending to be better people than they actually are."

Castle has no response as he shuts the passenger door, following her into the school.

Is he actually changing to become a better person… or is it all an act? Is he a fraud? Is he just conning her? Or worse, conning himself? He's not sure. All he knows is that, when it comes to Beckett, hiding behind a mask is not an option.

He follows Beckett into Wheeler's classroom, the teacher's back to them as he constructs his word wall. Looking at the man's back, Castle realizes one thing very quickly. This man does not impress him. Students are supposed to be able to trust their teachers - educators educate, they are not supposed to deceive.

The writer glares as Wheeler spins around. Stopping in front of him, Castle flashes the surveillance photo of the teacher conspiring with Fletcher. Castle steels his eyes.

"Um... Okay, I'm- I'm not gonna lie to you," the teacher stammers.

"Really?" Castle retorts, pointing at the image of Wheeler in the photo. "Cuz clearly, you're pretty good at it."

Nope. Not impressed at all.

* * *

><p>How could Elise Finnigan be so gullible... believing Steven Fletcher was a CIA agent? Beckett just shakes her head in disbelief.<p>

And the fact that Castle believes it too? Ughh.

At least she's going to get a dollar out of this. Well… she's pretty sure she'll win a dollar. Because there's no way Steven Fletcher is a secret agent. None.

That's just another con.

Driving back to the precinct, the shrill sound of Castle's cell interrupts the silence. He quickly answers the call. "Castle."

Beckett tries to eavesdrop, but she cannot catch the other half of the conversation. "Uh-huh… uh-huh… Steven Fletcher… the 12th Preci-" Suddenly, he removes the phone from his ear and stares at it momentarily.

"So?..." she demands after a brief moment, her tone betraying her impatience.

Castle puts his cell back in his pocket. "He'll get back to me."

"Your _guy_," she mocks, parking in front of the precinct.

"Agent Gray," he corrects, getting out of the cruiser.

"Does _Agent Gray_ have a first name?" she smirks, stepping into the elevator.

"Not even sure Gray is his real last name," Castle shrugs.

No more is said, the silence cocooning around them. As the faint hypnotic hum of the elevator's motor fills the space, the delicious scent of his cologne infuses the air around her. Vanilla and cloves. She wets the edge of her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, her teeth biting down, drawing her lip into her mouth ever-so-slightly.

A familiar warming sensation causes her stomach to flutter once more. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and wonders what it would be like… to press her mouth to his skin. Would he taste like vanil- _What?! No! _This is not right! She's not thinking about that! This is Castle. _Castle!_

She quickly steps out of the elevator the moment the doors part, traipsing deliberately down the hall, the writer on her heels. She needs to clear her head. Think about something else. Now.

She crosses into the bullpen and heads for her desk. "So how do you know this guy, anyway, Castle?"

"I met Agent Gray when I was researching _Storm Warning_. Now, this guy was invaluable for the really hard-core secret agent stuff. This guy is a machine. I've interviewed serial killers, hit men... Agent Gray-"

"-mmhmm-" she mumbles, listening intently.

"-by far the deadliest man I've ever met." He lowers his voice to a whisper before continuing. "He once killed a North Korean agent with a melon-baller."

"It was an ice-cream scoop, Castle."

The writer spins around, surprised by the voice behind him, to see an unassuming, short man leaning on the desk. After a brief conversation, Gray soon confirms that Fletcher was not CIA, but that is not what is floating through Beckett's mind as she pads through the bullpen.

A sex scene. He wrote a sex scene. A _racy_ sex scene! Between _them_!

She's already having issues getting him out of her head… and now this?!

Shit.

But she doesn't dwell on it long as she and Castle are literally cut off by a fiery, adolescent redhead.

"Dad! We need to talk."

The detective is stunned as Alexis grabs her father and drags him into Interrogation Room One. Standing frozen in the hallway, Beckett debates momentarily whether or not she should invade their privacy… but curiosity quickly wins out. After all, he's been poking around in her life for the past year. Karma's a bitch and turn-about's fair play.

She smirks to herself as she enters the observation room. Shutting the door behind her, she peers through the glass to see Castle sitting down at the table, looking small and defensive, Alexis leering at him, invading his space. He looks so small… so uncomfortable. She hesitates briefly, index finger hovering over the speaker button, before she presses down on the switch.

Alexis' strident voice reverberates off the walls. _"No, no, quiet. Am I a trouble-maker, Dad? Do I get drunk, disobey authority, steal police horses…"_

_"That-" _Castle begins only to be cut off.

_"...naked? No. That'd be you. I seem to be the only person in this family blessed with good judgment, and yet, you don't trust me."_

Wow. So this is how it is in the Castle family. The daughter raising her father.

Beckett's thoughts suddenly flash to her own father - how she had to rescue Jim from himself not that long ago. She wasn't that much older than Alexis is now...

A daughter saving her father.

Her hand unconsciously caresses the watch band around her left wrist as she continues to watch the teen tear a strip off her father. As uncomfortable as it is to behold, Beckett can't help but be slightly impressed by the girl's moxie… but her stomach also clenches when she notices the anguish behind Castle's eyes.

She's never seen this side of him - and it's slightly disconcerting.

_"I love you, Daddy, but I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't protect me from everything." _

Alexis' final words feel like a punch in the gut. Similar words fell from her lips at one time - when she thought she knew everything. Words she'd uttered before her life was turned upside down. Words she now wishes she hadn't said, but can't take back. She releases a slow breath - reading the shame that is painted across Castle's face - before leaving the observation room.

"She's good," she teases, entering the open doorway, attempting to lighten the mood. "She took you apart like a pro."

"You saw that?" he mumbles half-heartedly.

"Mmm-hmm…" she acknowledges with a light hum. "Through the glass." She pauses for a second, reading the pain on his face, realizing bravado is not helping. "It was actually kind of difficult to watch," she adds sympathetically.

He doesn't even look up, eyes glazed over. "Even harder to experience."

She never thought she'd see him this despondent. It's strange. She wants to poke him the way he has poked her forever, but she can't seem to bring herself to kick him when he's down. Like his armour has been stripped away, leaving him exposed and raw.

"So…" she mumbles, "do you need a minute, or can we get back to work?" Perhaps he needs a distraction. Burying herself in her job has always worked for her. But Castle just looks up, nothing but melancholy and despair in his eyes.

"I'll give you a minute," she acquiesces, leaving the room.

Apparently, her coping mechanisms for dealing with personal issues don't work for everyone.

* * *

><p>This case is getting frustrating. Really frustrating. They stand around the slab, staring down at the faceless corpse.<p>

"This body could or could not be a man whose alias is Steven Fletcher," Lanie states. She's got nothing else.

"But we saw him die," Beckett insists.

"Or did we?" the writer suggests.

Beckett shoots him a quick glance before looking down at the body once again, grinding her teeth. "I hate this case."

She walks off in a huff as Castle smiles gleefully. "I know… Isn't it great?"

Cons. Scams. Frauds. When the hell is this story going to make sense?

* * *

><p>They both come to the same conclusion at the same time. "The con is still on!"<p>

Elise had gone to the bank. Sue Vaughn is going to get away if they don't move quickly. They thank Mrs. Finnigan and run out of the house, Beckett pressing her phone to her ear.

"Espo? Call National Bank and Trust, 84th and Lex… yeah… Sue is Fletcher's partner."

She quickly climbs into her cruiser as Castle flops down on the seat beside her.

"Where're we headed?" he asks as the car roars to life. "Grand Central? JFK?"

"The bank," she says flatly, lighting up the gumball.

He grips the safety handle above the door as she turns the corner sharply. "You think we'll get there in time?"

"I've got a plan," she mutters, pressing her foot to the floorboard. "Sue Vaughn isn't the only person who can pull off a con."

She grips her phone, hits redial, and then hands the phone to Castle so she can keep both hands on the steering wheel.

_"Yo..." _the Latino's voice echoes from the speaker.

"Espo… patch me through to the bank. I need to talk to the manager. I've got an idea."

Castle just looks from the phone in his hand to her, and inquisitive expression written all over his face.

"You think you'll be able to con a con artist?" the writer asks.

"It's worth a try," Beckett replies, weaving around a taxi.

A report flashes across the screen on her dash. Sue's car's been spotted at a public parking lot not far from the bank. They arrive a few minutes later, eyes locked on the vehicle, waiting.

Soon enough, Sue appears in the mouth of the alleyway, briefcase in hand.

"Now?" the writer asks.

"Not yet," Beckett mutters into her CB radio. "Wait for my signal."

She gets out of her car, Castle following her lead, approaching the black luxury sedan, waiting for the right moment to strike. Standing just beyond the neighbouring car, they watch as Sue sits down behind the wheel and frantically opens the briefcase. The detective simply raises her arm and flicks her hand forward as she and Castle move in to approach the driver's side of the car.

The detective and writer lean down and look into the window, Beckett tapping her badge on the glass.

_Gotcha_.

The troops quickly surround the black car, Esposito pulling Sue out of the sedan to cuff her.

"You know, Detective Beckett here didn't think we could con a con artist," Castle remarks smugly, "but I told her you just weren't that smart." He's still talking, but Beckett has stopped actively listening as she turns her head to glare at him, shaking her head. That's not exactly how she remembers it.

As Esposito accompanies Sue to one of the cruisers, the bank manager approaches to thank Beckett. However, Castle finds himself shocked as Beckett runs her finger across her nose à la _The Sting_. The bank manager gestures back and Beckett chuckles as he walks away.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second," Castle remarks. "I thought you said you hated con movies."

"Oh, Castle," she smirks. "You are such an easy mark, aren't you?"

Wow, she's good. It takes a lot to surprise him, but that is hands down the best con of this whole case.

* * *

><p>Beckett and Castle listen to the edited recording of the faked phone call, Ryan pressing stop just before Elise Finnigan rushes over. The heartbroken woman reels again at the fact that her fiancé is, in fact, dead, but it's Beckett's final statement that catches the author's attention.<p>

"Elise. You need to know that Steven loved you very much. He changed his ways because you made him want to be a better man."

The writer can't help but listen intently to her words. How the words are being said. This is not a platitude. This is truth. She believes it.

She believes people can change.

There's still hope.

* * *

><p>He bids her goodnight, leaving her to her alleged paperwork. Flimsy excuse. Who does she think she's conning?<p>

He quickly doubles back, spying around the corner, just in time to see her rush into the Ladies' room holding a black bag. He narrows his eyes as a sly, satisfied grin tugs on the corner of his lips.

Like a stealth ninja, he opens the locker room door, watching the top of her head sink down below the wall of the second stall. He quietly creeps over to the first stall, sliding between the door and the short wall, hoping the muffled sounds of her opening her bag will stifle any inadvertent noises he might make.

He listens carefully, crouching beside the adjoining divider. There's a slight shuffle followed by the unmistakable sound of pages flipping.

A smug smile lights up his face. It's so obvious. She's looking for the sex scene.

And like a ninja, he decides the element of surprise is the optimal attack. He quickly pops his head up, peering at her over the top of the dividing wall. "Aha!"

Her sudden gasp amuses him, but the way she clutches the book tightly against her chest amuses him even more. He rarely gets to see her flustered. This is fun.

"Castle!" she whispers defensively, curling in on herself. "What're you doing here?"

"I knew you were reading it," he smirks.

She can do nothing but stutter half words. "I...wa…"

"It's on page 105, by the way." He raises his eyebrows playfully.

"Wh- what?"

"That sex scene you're looking for," he smoulders, relishing the way her jaw drops. "And Agent Gray was right. It's steamy."

"I wasn't-" she begins to protest, but Castle cuts her off with a nonchalant, "See you tomorrow."

The writer hops down from his perch, whistling as he leaves her alone. Leaves her with his words. Words inspired by her - words he hopes she'll dream of later tonight.

Because she might be better at playing the game… but he just changed the rules.

.

* * *

><p><strong>So the primary school in question was not given a name. Believe me… I looked<strong>**, so I took the liberty to name it. **

**And since Alexis' high school was named after Andrew Marlowe, I opted to name this elementary school after Terri Miller. Seemed right. :)**

**. **

**Sorry about the length. There were too many great moments for me to milk.**

**.**

**Hope you liked it.**

**Judge away. )**


	5. When The Bough Breaks

**lv2bnsd assured me that lengthy chapters are okay... so here's another one.**

**There was just so much Casketty goodness in this ep - I couldn't _not_ write a lot! :P**

**I think I got all the typos, but they're sneaky... like ninjas!**

* * *

><p><strong>EPISODE 5 - "WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS"<strong>

His mind is racing. A certain British secret agent. A three book deal. And they're considering him. _Him_! As the details of the possible deal spill from Paula's crimson lips, Castle can't suppress the thrilled look from washing over his face - the excitedly wide eyes, the goofy grin.

It's like winning the lottery.

Cars… Gadgets… Guns... Babes galore… buxom blondes who get used like kleenex… sexy brunettes who seduce the spy… Kate Beckett kicking ass...

_Beckett? What the-?_ Suddenly, his ears are no longer registering what his book agent is blathering on about because he can't get a certain female NYPD detective out of his head.

But not Beckett.

No.

He's thinking about Nikki...

Nikki.

Really.

And he _should_ be thinking about his own character. The book launch for _Heat Wave_ is only a few days away. He _can't _be thinking about 007…

Paula plants a wet kiss on his other cheek - the matching lipstick smudges giving a sense symmetry to his face - as she tosses him a garish farewell and traipses to the door. But he doesn't register the deliberate sway of her hips, the sultry treble in her voice - because enticing yet … complicated ... thoughts of a particular British spy are flowing through his mind.

He shuts the front door behind his agent as she leaves, but his hand lingers momentarily on the doorknob as his thoughts are lost in a haze of confusion. This could be a dream come true. Last year, he would have killed for this opportunity.

But now?...

It... it just doesn't feel quite right. He wanders back to the kitchen, partially dazed. He picks up his cell phone and slowly scrolls through his contacts. As his thumb hovers over Beckett's number, his stomach flips slightly as he stares at her name. Why does this feel so wrong?

He shakes his head to clear the impugn thoughts from his brain. He quickly texts the detective, keeping the message short and to the point. '_Body drop? Where?' _ Done.

Receiving a reply less than minute later, the writer closes the text window, but his gaze lingers on the screen of his phone. His stomach continues to churn uncomfortably. He's never felt this particular sensation before. He feels as if… as if he's cheating on her. _No! _Not_ her! _Not _Beckett_... Nikki. Cheating on_ Nikki._

But Nikki's a fictional character. And he created her. And nothing has happened. So it's not cheating.

Nothing has happened.

Yet.

* * *

><p>The uniform fills her in, walking her towards the body's location. "City workers found her when they opened the manhole to check the line."<p>

The three detectives gather around the manhole, gazing down at the sludge-covered corpse. "Something tells me she didn't trip," Beckett observes solemnly.

Moving off to the side, the three detectives get out of the way so the team from the OCME can retrieve the body from the depths of the sewer.

"So…" Esposito remarks nonchalantly as he watches the action in front of him, "where's Castle?"

Beckett bites the inside of her cheek, extending her silence by taking a long sip of coffee.

"Did you call him?" Ryan asks, not waiting for an initial response as he watches the body being lifted out of the manhole, face cringing a bit due to the god-awful stench.

"Would you two stop pining for your boyfriend," she scoffs after swallowing the hot liquid. "Yes, I called him," she explains, voice laced with impatient sarcasm. "He didn't answer."

Esposito turns to shoot her a glance, his face awash with slight bewilderment. "Why not?"

"Dunno…" she shrugs as he looks back at the medical examiner's team. "Maybe he was out on a date last night and is otherwise occupied." The boys turn their heads in unison to look at her, faces laced with astonishment. "I don't really care."

The conversation falls flat then and there as she lifts the paper coffee cup to her lips to down another gulp. The boys just nod silently and return their attention to the recovery of the body - which is now on the M.E.'s stretcher, being examined by Perlmutter.

But her mind begins to stray focus. Why didn't Castle pick up when she called? He's always answers right away. Maybe he just got home. Perhaps he was sneaking in... trying to not get caught by his family… hoping to avoid the walk of shame. She can't repress a slight queasiness in her stomach at the thought that he might still in bed… cuddling with some blonde bimbo who he won't even remember tomorrow.

Not that she cares.

Because she doesn't.

At all.

Perlmutter and the boys are already discussing the initial findings when she joins them. Loading the body bag into the van, the crass M.E. snaps at Ryan - as per usual - but recovers his composure before addressing Beckett. "I should be able to get you a tighter window, maybe down to six or seven hours."

"Alright. Thank you."

Just as Perlmutter closes the doors of the OCME van, Beckett turns to see Castle approach.

"Ahh. Good morning," Ryan gibes.

Esposito follows up quickly with the tease. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence."

Beckett joins in the taunting, "Did you have something more important to do, Castle?"

"I got held up at home," he remarks nonchalantly.

He asks about the body, but Beckett tunes out slightly while the boys continue to taunt the writer. _Held up_? Maybe she _did_ interrupt something.

The knots in her stomach tighten, as does the grip around her coffee cup. She tries to refocus on the case, walk off the clenching in her gut, because she doesn't understand why she'd feel like this. Because she's not jealous.

She's not.

* * *

><p>"Damn it," Beckett mutters under her breath as she opens her car door. They'd left the morgue almost two hours ago and this is the ninth little shop they'd been to so far in search of that mysterious candy wrapper, but they've struck out at each one.<p>

At least, _she's _struck out.

Castle climbs into the passenger side of her cruiser with his newest purchase in hand. "Check it out, Beckett! The little chickens peck at the seeds!"

She looks over at the writer, an elated expression on his face as he spins a little paddle in his hand - the ball hanging below pulling on chords which makes the miniature chickens on the surface bob their heads in a pecking motion. She rolls her eyes as she puts the key in the ignition.

"Seriously, Castle?" she remarks, pulling into the flowing traffic. "We're looking for that candy."

"You're just jealous that you don't have a cool new toy," he smirks with a boyish grin, eyes dancing as he watches the toy move.

"Yes, that's it," she retorts flatly, voice oozing sarcasm. "You got me."

He shoots her an amused and teasing glance as he puts the toy back in its bag and pulls an Orion chocolate bar out of another.

She does a double-take as she looks at the unfamiliar packaging. "Where'd you get that?"

"Four shops ago," he shrugs, tearing the wrapper. "Wanna bite?" he holds it up as an offering.

"No… thank you," she refuses, taken aback. She pauses for a moment, slightly confused, before asking, "When did you get those stacking dolls then?"

"They're called Matryoshka dolls," he smirks, taking a teasing bite from the candy bar.

"Castle-" she warns.

"That little variety store on 73rd," he answers quickly, mumbling due to a mouthful of chocolate.

"The Russian Deli?"

"No… that's where I bought this awesome Czech beer!" he exclaims, pulling bottles of Braumeister and Berkshire Pilsner out of yet another bag. "The dolls were from the sixth store we went to - The Czech Center."

"So what'd you get at the seventh store then?"

"This." He holds up a miniature, hand-carved rocking horse.

"I'm actually kinda shocked you haven't bought a Russian bride yet, Castle... the rate you're going," she scoffs.

"Still got two or three stops left, Beckett," he grins. "I might get lucky."

He smiles to himself as she shakes her head, releasing a loaded sigh, refocusing on navigating the midmorning traffic. As much as he loves pushing her buttons, he can't seem to shake the gnawing feeling inside his chest. He loves this… this back and forth between them.

But what if he gets the offer to follow in Ian Fleming's footsteps? He'd have no reason to shadow Beckett anymore.

And he's not entirely sure if he really wants to let this go.

* * *

><p>Her head is buried in a file when Montgomery approaches. "What is he doing?"<p>

Beckett looks up at her captain who is, in turn, intrigued by the sight of Castle showing off his Matryoshka dolls to Karpowski. "We hit about a dozen little shops trying to find that candy wrapper, and he insisted on buying something in every shop."

Her captain chuckles, evidently amused by the boyish behaviour. "In every shop?"

"No wrapper, though."

"Well, something tells me if he decides to put the great candy wrapper hunt in his next book, he'll give it a happier ending," Montgomery remarks offhandedly.

It takes Beckett a split second to process what he just said. "Wait, sir, sir, wai- uh," she stutters, chasing him down. "_Next book?_ Is he writing another Nikki Heat novel? The deal was for one book. I assumed that-"

"-you were off the hook?" he finishes. "You know how the mayor feels about Castle. If the man is gonna write another book about you…"

"I am _not _Nikki Heat, sir," she interjects.

Montgomery, however, insists on her cooperation, leaving her standing there - flustered and perplexed. _Another_ book?! The deal was for one. _One!_ He was going to be off her case in a few days… out of her life! For good! Finally!

Because she's tired of having this man-child follow her around like a puppy!

Because she is _not_ Nikki Heat! She's not!

As Beckett silently contemplates her predicament, Ryan's voice snaps her back to reality.

"Yo," the Irishman states as the partners approach her desk. "Found your candy."

"You found it?" the writer remarks. "Get out of town."

The boys hand over a bag of lollipops to the author. While they inform Beckett about the grocery store where they located the candy, Castle immediately begins to unwrap one.

"I told you we should've checked the west end," he scoffs.

_Seriously?_ She shoots him an annoyed look, pursing her lips together. He's such a child. And now he might write a second book? She's never going to get rid of him. Ryan is going on about the vic, but all she can think about is the possibility of being immortalized in more novels… Nikki and Rook… page 105…

"Mmm. Kind of tastes like soap," Castle's voice interrupts the onslaught of thoughts as she turns to look at him. "I like it."

God, he's an irritating infant.

She doesn't want another Nikki Heat book. She doesn't want to be a muse. She doesn't want him around her anymore.

She doesn't.

* * *

><p>He can't seem to fall asleep. He's been laying in bed for almost two hours, staring at the ceiling, but his brain won't shut off. His mother's sanctimonious voice continues to dance around in his head, stuck on repeat.<p>

_'Oh, please, she'll be thrilled not to have you following her around. I'm sure the poor girl is counting down the days.'_

That can't be true.

Can it?

Castle restlessly turns onto his right side, burying his cheek in his pillow. He shuts his eyes, but he's unable to block the diva's last words from permeating his mind.

_'I'm sure she got along fine before you arrived.'_

She has. He knows she has. Her brain is one of the sexiest things about her. But he's helped her solve some tough cases. Helped her think outside the box every so often. Come up with theories that have sometimes led them in the right direction. He's even made her laugh once in a while.

He's been useful. He's sure of it.

Plus, there's a connection between them.

A _professional_ connection.

Opening his eyes, he stares across his room, shadows not completely masking the large photo of the elephant which adorns his wall. He gazes at the image of the pachyderm for a brief moment. It makes him think of the elephants sitting on her desk.

Connection.

It's undeniable.

He can see it. _ Why can't anyone else?_

Crestfallen, he releases an elongated huff, flopping once more onto his back, resting his hands on top of his chest as he stares at the ceiling once again. Only a few more days until the book comes out. And then that's it.

His mind races with questions. Will she actually be happy to have him out of her life? Will she miss him at all? Will he be able to write without her around to inspire him? He drums his fingers against his sternum, eyes wide, as question after question flash through his head. Questions without answers. And that concerns him.

Because maybe it's true.

Maybe she'll be glad to get rid of him.

He turns over on to his left side, pulling his comforter up to his chin and closing his eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his own breathing - purposefully attempting to drown out the obnoxious voices in his head.

He doesn't want to think about it anymore.

Because he doesn't know what he wants.

* * *

><p>He can't believe it. It's not even 9:00am and she's already figured out at which playground the mutilated picture was taken.<p>

Castle swallows lightly, agreeing that getting the boys to canvass the park would probably be a good idea, when her cell phone rings.

She shoots him a sarcastic glance. "Oh, look. Esposito's calling," she scoffs, her narrowed eyes not leaving his as she picks up the phone. "Wonder what he and Ryan have been doing all morning."

He watches her answer the call, "Hello? No, it's just Castle…." but her words echo in his head as she walks away from her desk, leaving him alone with his overactive imagination to taunt him relentlessly.

_'It's just Castle… just Castle… '_

It feels as though she just knocked the wind from his sails. She seems to get along just fine without him. _'Just Castle.' _

_Just._

His head begins to spin with disconcerting, hypnotic thoughts. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe the detective won't miss him at all. Uncertainties and doubts begin to flood his subconscious when a sudden snapping of fingers wakes him from his trance.

"_Castle!"_

He quickly glances up to see Beckett towering above him, an indignant look in her eyes. "Huh?"

"For the third time… _are you coming?"_

"Uhhh…" he utters for a second before nodding, "yeah… yeah."

The detective simply releases a heavy, exasperated sigh as she turns away and heads for the elevator, the writer quickly chasing behind her.

He'd better get it together. Quick.

He may not be entirely sure what he wants, but zoning out like that is not going to win him any popularity points.

* * *

><p>Hands shaking, Teodor Hajek pulls a picture from his wallet and hands it to Beckett. Castle glances over at the photograph as the man speaks again, voice cracking as he chokes on his heavily accented words. "This was my family. We were happy once. Now they're gone from me, both of them… gone."<p>

Castle feels his heart break for the man sitting across the table. A father who lost his child, and now lost a beloved wife. He can't imagine such pain. To lose everyone you hold dear. Everything important. Your family.

His mind wanders to thoughts of Alexis. She's the best part of his life. She's the only thing that has made his life important for any reason.

He wonders how devastated - how completely shattered - he would be if anything ever happened to her.

He looks over at the woman sitting beside him. For a brief moment, a similar thought crosses his mind. She's not family. And it's not like he loves her… but...

..._would_ he be upset if something were to happen to Beckett?

Pondering the thought, he shoots another glance at her out of the corner of his eye.

He wasn't all that bothered when Meredith rejected him, when he divorced Gina… or even when Kyra left. But Beckett?

They're not even a couple.

So why does the thought of losing her hurt so much?

* * *

><p>Wandering the hallway of the dilapidated apartment, Beckett can't help but think about the man following close behind her, the heat of him radiating against her back.<p>

Another Nikki Heat book. He's planning to write another book about her and never bothered to tell her. For a man who has the ego the size of Texas and lives to boast about the size of his… _talent_... she finds it a bit odd - curious even - that he's holding back.

She needs answers. Needs to know. Now. She steels herself and pivots on her heel to face him. "Can I ask you a question, Castle?"

"I already know what you're going to ask," he remarks offhandedly. "The dress code for the party is evening cocktail. If you're stumped, just ask yourself, what would Nikki Heat wear?"

_What would Nikki Heat wear?! _Presumptuous, arrogant jerk. It's always about him.

She opts to cut to the chase. "When were you gonna tell me about the other book?"

"You heard about that?" He seems a bit surprised she's asking. Did he honestly think it was going to be a secret forever?

"So it's true?" she demands.

"Well, it's not a done deal yet."

He's so blasé about it. What a smug, cocky son-of-a-bitch. "Well, did it ever occur to you to talk to me first?"

"Well, frankly, I thought you'd be relieved," he states, a tone of genuine shock in his voice.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," she retorts, rolling her eyes. What a pompous, conceited-

"Well, I mean, I'm flattered to even be considered," the writer counters, interrupting her thoughts. "Writing a certain British secret agent would be a very big opportunity for me."

A _what now...?_

"I was talking about Nikki Heat," she remarks.

"Oh..." The look on his face makes it quite clear. They have_ not_ been talking about the same thing. At all.

"Wait a minute," she processes. "A certain British secret agent? Are you...?"

"If they actually offer it to me. They may not."

"Yeah…" she stammers, pressing her lips together, "but if they do?"

"Well, I would certainly consider it," he states, trying to read her. "Like I said, I thought you'd be relieved."

"I _am_," she insists. "I mean, I would be... if they offered it to you."

She swallows, lost in thought, as Ryan and Esposito approach, halting their conversation. James Bond. He might write a series of James Bond novels. Which means he wouldn't be writing Nikki Heat anymore.

This is what she's been wanting for so long. He'd be done shadowing her. Out of her life.

It's what she's been waiting for.

Praying for.

So why is her stomach tying itself up in knots?

* * *

><p>Talbot's alibi was tight, but this new lead about Eliska's past might shed some light on the investigation.<p>

But it's getting late and they're not going to get their hands on the old incident report until morning. "Well, whatever the complaint is," Beckett considers, addressing the boys, "I'm gonna need the two of you to pick it up first thing in the morning."

Great. Paper work to start the day. Just what they wanted. Ryan and Esposito exchange tired glances, but Castle's quick to fix the melancholy.

"Guys, I've got two words to tide you over in the meantime: Open bar." He slides his shades over his eyes, highlighting his badboy image that he's come to embrace.

Beckett shoots an awkward glance from her chair as Esposito just nods his approval. "Free booze and sexy chicas? Count me in, Bro." Castle ecstatically offers his fingers for the Latino to feed.

"Sounds good to me," Ryan agrees, patting Espo on the back as the two head to their desks to grab their coats.

Castle turns to face Beckett - who is completely focused on her computer screen. "What about you, Beckett," he asks with a smug grin. "You coming?"

She doesn't avert her gaze. "Where?"

Castle whips his sunglasses from his face, completely flabbergasted. "_Where? _The book launch party? _Heat Wave?"_

"Castle, some of us have to work for a living," she responds dryly.

"Come on, Beckett," he presses, dropping his glasses on her desk. "It's _one night_."

She shoots him an unimpressed glare before refocusing on her paperwork.

"What's the matter, Detective?" he teases. "Afraid of having a little fun?"

She narrows her eyes as she releases a slow huff, pressing her tongue tight against the back of her teeth. She can sense his piercing stare burning the side of her face. She doesn't turn her head, but placates him with a mutter. "When I finish up here, I _might_ make an appearance."

Castle happily tightens his fist, trying to contain his excitement, as he almost jumps out of the chair. "Well, in that case, don't let me disturb you."

She shifts her gaze to glance over the top of her monitor, watching him head for the back elevator, her heart racing a mile a minute.

It's real. A book written by her favourite author, inspired by her. About her. And now everyone else on the planet is going to be able to read it.

Oh god… _the sex scene!_

She starts to blanch at the prospect of her friends… co-workers… Montgomery… her father… reading page 105. However, at the same time, she can't suppress the smile from forming. She bites her bottom lip sensually as she recollects the wave of heat that assaulted her as she read the words a few days ago. Allowed them to coat her body, suffuse her senses.

A wave of heat.

Fitting.

She's tempted. Tempted to show up in something _Nikki Heat would wear_ just to tease him. Tantalize him. Provoke him. If he's going to move on and write about James Bond, there's no reason she can't have fun with it. Make him see exactly what he'd be missing.

Besides… getting him riled up is her specialty. And it's so easy.

Rising from her desk, she hastily grabs her coat from the back of her chair and heads for the elevator. She'll make an appearance.

And it's going to be one he never forgets.

* * *

><p>Esposito holds out his beer bottle to clink it against Castle's champagne flute. "Awesome party, Bro."<p>

Castle answers with a satisfied grin, putting down his glass to sign the front cover of a book that was just shoved in front of him.

"Yeah, thanks for inviting us," Ryan adds, shooting one of the waitresses a wimpy smile.

"Dude," the Latino remarks, slapping his partner's chest as Castle is dragged away by some reporters. "She is way outta your league."

"Whaddya mean?" Ryan retorts. "She's a waitress-"

"-at a midtown party," Espo smirks, taking a swig of his beer. "_Everyone_ here is outta your league."

Ryan doesn't respond with words - he simply nods his head in acquiescence and checks out a fan girl whose chest is being autographed by the writer at that very moment. The two resign themselves to sitting at the bar, nursing their beers.

"So this is how the other half lives," Esposito sighs, admiring a stunningly female ass that saunters by.

"Castle should write a _How To..._ book next," Ryan bemoans as he takes a gulp of his brew, completely ignored by the two busty bombshells who pass right by without so much as acknowledging his existence. "He would make a fortune."

Esposito can do nothing but nod in agreement, the men clinking the necks of their beer bottles together, each taking a swig in unison.

* * *

><p>Castle goes through the motions. Autographing books. Signing chests. Smiling for the cameras. He puts on a good front, but he can't help but be slightly distracted.<p>

Everyone is here. Ryan. Esposito. Even Montgomery.

But no Beckett.

He feels... dejected. The woman who inspired his new success - his muse - didn't come to celebrate the launch of his book. _Her_ book. He signs another chest, flashing his most debonaire and flirtatious of smiles, but his heart just isn't in it.

Everywhere he looks, he's surrounded by her. _Heat Wave_. Nikki Heat. But the detective he really wants to celebrate is Beckett. The time ticks by and the party finds its groove. The onslaught of attention seekers has ebbed somewhat. Castle's able to sit down, relax, chat with a fellow writer. The two of them hunker down in a corner booth, out of the limelight and away from the noise. They chat about stories, characters… a woman brings another book to have him sign… but he's not really hearing a lot of what's being said around him.

It's getting late. Maybe she won't co-

_"Hey! It's Nikki Heat!"_

The exuberant exclamation from the doorway draws his immediate attention. It can't be. But it is. His breath catches in his throat as he watches her stride in. Tight blue cocktail dress with a vee-cut neckline that leaves little to the imagination... hair softly curled... legs that go on forever… and a facial expression she tries to mask - one that tells him she'd rather be anywhere but staring down a photographer's lens.

But the way_ she_ looks? There's nobody else in the room worth photographing anymore now that she's arrived. And the photographers swarm.

He makes a mental note to ask Paula about getting his hands on some of those photos.

His heart beat begins to race as he observes her from across the room. He's sure he's staring, but he can't help it. She came. She's here. And she looks like _that_?!

Is she _trying_ to kill him?

He excuses himself, eyes locked on his muse who is heading towards a display of books. He can't help the giddy smile from forming, the twinkle in his eye. She's going to check out the dedication. And he wants to see - no..._ savour_ - the look on her face.

Paula sidles up to him, grabbing his arm. "That's her?" she asks with an air of intrigue.

"That's her," he confirms, voice deep and husky, eyes washing over Beckett's lithe form.

"Huh. That is one hell of a love letter you wrote her," she remarks sarcastically. "Geez, one night in Ibiza and what do I get? A chapter in _Storm Fall_?"

"A very hot chapter," he retorts. And what is she talking about? _'Love letter?'_ The novel is not a love letter!

Is it?

"And she gets a whole book? She must be a pretty special girl," his brash agent remarks.

He can't suppress the adoring grin as he watches the detective pick up one of the books, fingers smoothing delicately over the dust jacket. _Special_ doesn't even scratch the surface of the wonderful enigma that is Kate Beckett.

"Let me ask you something," Paula continues, "when she calls you, do you call her back?"

"Yeah." He doesn't understand the nature of the question.

"Of course you do. Because she's important to you and because it's polite."

"Paula, I call you back," he placates.

"Three-book deal, and I can't even get you on the phone to let you know you've got an official offer?"

An offer? Wha-? He hardly registers what she's saying. James Bond. They want _him_ to write James Bond!

But… what about Beckett? NO! _Nikki! What about Nikki?_

He stammers a bit before finding his words. "Paula, I'm sorry. This is... this is a big step for me. I don't know that I'm ready to walk away from Nikki Heat."

"Who?" his agent taunts. "The one on the page or the one standing over there in that Hervé Léger dress?"

"The one... on... the page," he chokes. Nikki. He's talking about Nikki.

He is.

"Oh, Rick…" Paula sighs. "Are you sleeping with her?"

What kind of a question is that? "No!"

"Well, what the hell are you waiting for? So get it out of your system, and then come down to the office and sign the damn contract, okay?"

Her fingertips gingerly pat his face before she saunters away, but Castle can't shake her words from his head. '_Get it out of your system._' That's not what he wants. She is his muse. His friend. Kate Beckett is _not _a conquest. That hasn't even crossed his mind.

...lately.

But there she is. Standing there. Looking so incredibly sultry and delicious. A vixen with a badge. His brain is saying one thing but his body is speaking quite loudly too, and he can't seem to drown out either one. He watches her open the cover of the book, an adorably lovely smile tugging on her lips as she flips to the dedication page.

There it is. The moment he's been waiting for.

She gasps slightly - awed - and he beams happily. His words took Kate Beckett's breath away.

He slinks up behind her, inhaling her enticing scent of vanilla and jasmine. Being so close to her sends electricity racing through him.

"Hey," he whispers softly in her ear, voice deep and delicious.

"Hey. I... I was just, uh…" she stammers, closing the book. "The, uh, the dedication, wow. Thank you."

_'To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th.' _ He's never before written anything more truthful, honest, and sincere.

"I meant it," he smiles warmly. "You are extraordinary." His heart flutters as she beams at him, her eyes glistening and bright and jubilant.

This feels so perfect. So right.

Until it all goes so very, very wrong.

* * *

><p>So the ungrateful woman <em>wants<em> him to write James Bond? Fine by him.

"You know what?" he digs. "Just as well, because there really wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel anyway."

"Oh, there's _plenty_ to the character," she counters, voice stinging and eyes shooting daggers. "She just needs a better writer."

If that's the way she feels.

"Fine," he sneers, staring her down.

"Fine," she jeers, challenging him.

Not another word is spoken as they break away from each other, rage stirring as they head in opposing directions.

He heads to the bar and grabs a shot of vodka. Throwing it down his throat, the burning sensation of the alcohol a welcome salve, he turns around in a huff - only to watch his muse march past the sea of paparazzi and head straight for the exit.

What a bitch.

He writes a book about her, tells her she's extraordinary, and all she can do is insult him? Who the hell does she think she is?!

He signals for a refill and slams back the second shot. _'A better writer'? _Who the fuck does she think she's talking to? He poured his heart and soul on to every single page of that book and she thinks she can do better than him?! His heart and soul…

_Fuck._

Elbows propped on the marble surface of the bar, he buries his face in his hands, breathing deeply. Slowly.

Paula's right.

It _is _a love letter.

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

* * *

><p>Arms crossed in front of her chest, she releases a heated huff as she stares out the window of the taxi cab.<p>

_'There really wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel anyway.'_

His words echo in her head, reverberating through her mind. Her arms clench tighter as she watches the glimmer of lights emblazon the darkened Manhattan streetscape.

Jackass.

She presses her lips together, perturbed and angry and frustrated.

Not enough to the character? What the hell?! He follows her around for almost a year like a puppy dog and suddenly decides that she's boring?... Uninteresting?... _Uninspiring?!_

Whatever.

Now he can move on and semi-stalk someone else in the name of research.

_Research_. Yeah, right.

Good riddance. It's not like she even wants him around anyway.

She doesn't.

So why does it feel like he just punched her in the gut?

The Hervé Léger dress that had originally given her the confidence to face the onslaught of paparazzi when she arrived at the event now feels tight. Uncomfortable. Constricting.

She stares out the window, flashes of car lights and street lamps illuminating the obscure shadows of the night, but her eyes do not register her surroundings.

Extraordinary.

That's what he'd written. That's what he'd said. He called her extraordinary. And the way he looked at her, standing so close, adoration in his eyes. And he'd smelled so good. And _looked_ so good.

And he'd called her _extraordinary_.

Oh god.

She takes a deep breath but fails to calm the erratic palpitations of her heart as she unconsciously begins to chew on the tip of her thumb.

_'I was thinking..._'

His words reverberate in the depths of her mind as she recalls how his gorgeous cerulean blue eyes - like glowing sapphires - pierced her own with such intensity as if she was the only other person in the room.

For a moment, she thought she might have felt something. She'd never felt anything like it before - her heart racing unexpectedly, her breath catching in her throat. The electricity. And maybe he felt it too… _shit._

_'What man has ever turned you away?'_

Those words stung. What does he know? He_ thinks_ he knows her. Thinks he knows her so well. But she's still got her mysteries… her secrets. There's so much about her that he's never discovered.

He has _no idea_.

But that doesn't matter now, because he's done with her. He's moving on. She'll finally be free of him.

Finally.

It's what she's wanted for almost a year. It was an uphill battle, but she won the game.

So why does she feel like she just lost the war?

* * *

><p>He rides up the elevator at the 12th precinct, fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. Watching the numbers increase slowly, he checks his watch - for the sixth time in less than twenty seconds. This has got to be the longest elevator ride ever.<p>

His stomach clenches tightly. In and out. Grab his sunglasses. He wants to be quick. But what if Beckett is here? He's not entirely sure if he wants to see her or not. And that's the thought which is torturing him.

And if he does see her, what should he say?

_Shit._

He startles as the elevator chimes, the doors sliding open. Tentatively, he peers around the corner, scanning the Homicide bullpen.

No Beckett.

He pads down the hall, cautiously approaching her desk. He surveys the area one last time. Karpowski's at her desk. The boys are at their station. But she's not here.

He's not sure if he's happy about that or not… until her harsh voice echoes behind him.

"What are you doing here, Castle? Don't you have bigger, more lucrative fish to fry?"

The contempt in her tone? Well… _that _certainly makes it easier.

"Actually, I just left my sunglasses here yesterday," he notes unfeelingly.

"Oh, please, that is the lamest excuse I have ever-"

She holds her tongue as she watches Castle pick his sunglasses up off her desk.

"You know what? While you're at it, don't forget those." She nods towards the Matryoshka dolls on her desk and walks off to address Ryan and Esposito.

He wants to rail her. But he bites his tongue. He doesn't need Nikki Heat. He's got James Bond. 007. The spy of spies. Gadgets… gizmos… guns… girls…

He doesn't need her.

But as he puts the dolls back inside each other, he can't help but eavesdrop as the detectives discuss their case. Something Karpowski says strikes him as odd.

"You're still here." Her voice cuts like a knife.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he holds back, because he knows the way to bridge the gap between himself and Beckett's is through her case. He looks over at the other female detective. "Karpowski, did the super say she was paid up to Friday?"

"That's what he said," she confirms.

"That doesn't make any sense," he mutters catching Beckett's attention. "That place rents by the week. She was killed last Thursday."

"How could she be paid up through this coming Friday?" she processes.

"Maybe we should ask?" he offers.

She grabs her gun and keys and heads for the elevator. "Let's go."

He smiles gleefully as he chases to catch up.

He's leaving, but at least they can part ways as friends.

* * *

><p>The minutes tick by as they patiently watch Eliska's apartment building for Mrs. Talbot to pick up the mail. And they would have never even known about it if they hadn't spoken to the super… without Castle making that connection.<p>

It pains her to admit it to herself, but he does have his moments.

They sit in the car. Waiting. Just waiting. In typical Castle fashion, he can't help but try to connect the dots. Write the story. And he does make valid observations. It could be a threatening letter from Mrs. Talbot - or anything else for that matter.

But for once, his theory might not be too far gone.

"The irony is it never would have connected them," the detective explains. "We don't go through a victim's mail unless there's probable cause and a warrant first."

"Thank you."

Not the reaction she was expecting. "For what?" she asks.

"For using 'irony' correctly. Ever since that Alanis Morissette song people use it when they actually mean 'coincidence.' Drives me nuts!"

"Yeah, well, it must be your great grammatical influence over me," she scoffs playfully.

"I may be going," he smiles warmly, "but I'm leaving something of myself behind."

She can't help but smile in response, but her eye contact waivers. This is it. He's really leaving. She thought that's what she wanted, but now she's not so sure.

She looks over at him again, his face turned away, peering out the window, expressionless. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. What is she supposed to say? That she was wrong? That she wants him around?

He does make her smile... sometimes. And he has come in useful… once in a while. And he's actually fun to be around… on his better days.

Her mouth shuts of its own volition as her mind blanks, her throat dries.

Why is she never able to say what she's really thinking?

She takes a deep breath instead, resigning herself to embracing the uncomfortable silence - thoughts gnawing at her - before her job takes over again.

Story of her life.

* * *

><p>The case quickly unfolds as all of the pieces fall into place.<p>

The good doctor's alibi falls apart. The warrant comes in for the mysterious letter and the truth about Eliska's son is revealed.

The murderer is unmasked.

L.T. leads Cameron Talbot to holding, cuffs tight around the murderer's wrists, while Melissa Talbot is escorted out of the break room. Beckett can do nothing but watch as Officer Velasquez walks her slowly to the elevator, the distraught woman almost unable to hold herself up due to the shock.

Her husband is a murderer. Her son is not her own.

Beckett can't even imagine how devastating that must be. To find out the person you trust the most in the world - you life partner - deceived you. Is not who you thought they were.

Her heart breaks for the poor woman whose world has just shattered.

And for the woman who was murdered just because she was trying to find out the truth.

She shakes her head one last time, looking up at Castle. His somber eyes meet hers, but both remain silent. There's nothing to say. She heads into Montgomery's office, the writer right beside her - she never thought she'd ever get used to it, but his constant presence has become quite reassuring.

And she's going to lose it soon.

There are so many aspects to closing this case that just don't sit well with her.

Filling in her captain about Eliska's investigation into her son's true identity, Beckett can't help but be impressed by the young woman's tenacity. Her determination to find out the truth.

But, despite her efforts, was unable to get closure for her family.

A tale all too familiar to her.

"The way we figure it, she got the job on the hospital cleaning crew solely to get access to the birth records. She made it her mission to find out the truth," Castle explains.

Montgomery can't help but be saddened considering the price the woman paid for seeking the truth. "Even if it cost her her life? Seems so pointless, somehow."

But Beckett knows what it's like to be that driven. To seek the truth. To want answers no matter the cost. And though she can't give closure to Eliska, she's pretty sure she can give closure to someone else.

"Maybe not," she muses, Castle looking at her inquisitively. "I need to make a call."

He catches on a moment later as they leave Montgomery's office. "The father?" he asks, following the detective to her desk.

She smiles at him affirmatively as she picks up her phone receiver, flipping open her case file to look up Melissa Talbot's number.

* * *

><p>The detective and writer silently observe the scene play out before them. Watching Teodor Hajek interact with his young, estranged son - Melissa Talbot smiling tenderly beside him on the couch - is heartwarming… magical even.<p>

The two exchange knowing looks, and without a word, leave the apartment, allowing the new, unorthodox family to find their way.

Beckett's stomach churns uncomfortably. It's over. Done. Suddenly it becomes so real. Too real. And she's not sure if she's ready to say goodbye yet. But she can't bring herself to say the words that stick in her throat.

Descending the stairs, she searches for something to say. Anything.

"Thank you, Castle," she mutters finally. "I, uh, I never would have been able to solve this case without your help."

The stunned look on his face makes her grin softly. She didn't expect this. Didn't think she'd want him gone. But here it is. She's gotten used to him.

And he's leaving.

It's ironic. All she's ever wanted for almost a year now was for him to stop talking… but now, his silence is so very uncomfortable and disconcerting. She wants to hear his voice. Just once more.

"Well, uh…" she stammers, not able to hold his steady gaze, "good luck on your new book. I know that you'll do it proud."

His eyes glimmer as he stares back at her, evidently torn as to what to say. A writer without words.

"Thanks," is all he manages to utter, tone genuine and sincere.

He stares at her, the piercing gaze causing her heart to beat erratically. His lips quiver, mouth opening slightly, but no words come out. She wants him to speak - hopes he can find the words that she can't. She stares back at him, searching his eyes, the silence thick between them - simultaneously awkward and serene and heavy.

Her heart is in her throat.

She wants to say everything - for the words that are crashing through her head to spill out from her lips... but they're both at a loss for words.

Breaking the stalemate at last, Castle holds out his hand in front of her. She pauses for a brief moment, looking down at it. Studying it. The fingers that typed all of the words of her favourite stories. The very hand that held the pen that was used to autograph one of her books so long ago. Those strong hands that she has admired for so long - even fantasized about from time to time.

But _this_ is not how her fantasies ever ended.

Reaching out, his large hand envelops hers, dwarfing it. As her palm fuses with his, shivers jolt down her spine as the sensation of his grip tightens - like he's holding on to a life line, not wanting to let go.

"You take care of yourself," he chokes out, eyes saying so much more than his words are. He inhales slightly before adding, "And-"

But he doesn't have time to finish his thought as he's interrupted by the shrill ring of his cell phone.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her cell begins to ring as well.

The Universe is cruel.

* * *

><p>Her captain is on the other end of the line, going on about the mayor and helping out the department, but she's not really paying attention to what her boss is saying - until he mentions that Mayor Wheldon wants Castle to continue shadowing her for a bit longer… since it'll be good press prior to his re-election.<p>

"He wants me to _what_?" Beckett exclaims, pivoting quickly, taken aback by the unexpected request.

"Apparently _Heat Wave _is doing so well that his publishers want to continue the series for at least another three books," Montgomery reveals, a playful lilt in his voice.

She shoots a glare at the writer as she squeezes her cell. "Three books?" she growls into her phone. "That would take forever!"

"You already spoke to the mayor?" Castle mutters into his own phone, not quite processing what Paula is telling him.

Overhearing his statement, Beckett spins quickly, daggers shooting from her retinas. "I'm gonna kill you," she hisses.

"Detective?" Montgomery's stringent voice echoes in her ear. Oops.

Hasty and apologetic, Beckett stammers into her phone, fingers awkwardly tracing the lines of her jaw in embarrassment. "No, no, no, no, sir," she insists, "I wasn't talking to you. I, uh…"

Well done, Beckett. Put foot firmly in mouth and chew.

"Alright then, Detective," the captain utters, letting her mishap slide. "I'm sure the Mayor will want to thank you."

Glaring at the writer as she speaks to her captain, Beckett weighs her words with a viperish, bitter sting. "No need to thank me, sir. I am happy to help His Honor out in any way I can."

Before she can put her foot in her mouth again, she ends the call, glowering at Castle as he attempts to talk to his agent. But her murderous scowl leaves him overly flustered.

"Y- you know what?" he stutters into his phone as she strides towards him, eyes narrowed and lips tight. If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under right now. "I think... I'm gonna... O- okay, Paula, I'm gonna... I'll call you. I'll call you back."

Quickly ending the call, he defensively insists, "I had nothing to do with that phone call."

_Really? _She's about to tear a strip off of him before he's saved by the bell… or the cell, to be precise… as her phone interrupts again.

"What?!" she shouts indignantly into the speaker, not breaking her pernicious stare.

"It's Esposito. We got a body... 64th and Lex."

"Okay. I'll be right there."

She hastily ends the call and turns to leave. If he wants to shadow her, the ball's in his court.

Dumbstruck, the writer's feet remain planted as words finally pour from his mouth. "Where are you going?"

"That was Esposito," she answers flatly as she heads towards the exit. "There's been a murder." Halting in her tracks, she can't help but smirk. She gets to keep working with him but doesn't have to admit to him that she wants him around.

Point: Beckett.

Steeling herself, she spins around to face the author, face cold as stone. "Are you coming or what?"

Castle says nothing.

She ensures her body language and posture says that she's unimpressed, but her heart flips happily as he responds simply by moving his feet, chasing her.

As always.

Game on.

* * *

><p>xxxxx<p>

**So that's my take on the ever-popular-for-fics book launch party... Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Judge away. :)**


	6. Vampire Weekend

**I considered jumping on the 6x17 post-ep bandwagon… for about 3 seconds. ****But so many great fics were written, so I'm going to stick with this Season 2 series. :D**

**If you are interested in reading some "In The Belly of the Beast" fics, here are a couple I really liked:**

*** "Thaw" by brookemopolitan**

*** "Almost Heaven" by chezchuckles**

*** "The Letter" by Liv Wilder**

**So…. on with Season 2...**

* * *

><p><strong>EPISODE 6 - "VAMPIRE WEEKEND"<strong>

Vampires?

_Seriously?_

Beckett leaves Lanie to finish the preliminary examination, heading back to her car, weaving around the gravestones - Castle close at her heels.

"How cool is this?!" he exclaims, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning as he hops into the passenger side of her cruiser. "Our victim is a real, live vampire… uh… well… not live… but… uh…" he stammers as Beckett shoots him an unimpressed glare. "You know what I mean."

She responds solely with a patented roll of the eyes and shake of her head. He's incorrigible. "He's not a vampire, Castle," she remarks flatly, starting the car.

"And yet, he has fangs," the writer retorts playfully.

"Keep this up," she threatens, huffing her evident frustration, "and you'll see my fangs too..."

"Promise?" he teases with a cocky grin, wiggling his eyebrows.

She bites her tongue, grip tightening on the steering wheel. She can't help it. He's ridiculously annoying, yet looks so incredibly hot in that long brown coat. And the suspenders…and the boots… the way they accent the tight, muscular lines of his body. The way his soft, silky hair flops across his forehead - like a bit of a rebel. A suave and dangerous renegade. She's always had a thing for bad boys, and this look was really doing it for h-

_WHOA! WHOA ! WHOA!_

What the fuck is she thinking? This is Castle!_ Castle_! He's not some outlaw cowboy or rebellious smuggler! He's a writer!

_A writer!_

She takes in a slow, steady breath as she pulls up in front of his building to drop him off.

"Meet you at the morgue in the morning?" he asks while exiting the car.

"Mmhmm…" she affirms weakly, chewing on her bottom lip as he closes the door.

She's never been more happy about the dim streetlights on Broome - masking the heat rising in her cheeks - as she watches him walk towards the front door of his apartment building.

Good god, his ass looks delicious in those tight pants.

Returning to her apartment to settle in for the evening, she pours herself a nice glass of merlot and peruses her bookcase for something to read for an hour or so before bed. But the vision of Castle in that coat… those pants… she licks her lips hungrily and opts instead to give in to her inner geek…

Her tongue traces the edge of her mouth, the movement quite sensual, relishing the taste of the wine - as well as the memory of the writer's scrumptious rear-end - as she heads for her bedroom.

She smiles as she pushes her _Nebula-9_ DVD case to the side and picks up her copy of _Firefly _off her shelf. Maybe just one episode tonight. She pops in a disc and settles into her bed, a hungry grin tugging on her lips.

Castle did _actually_ look_ really_ sexy as Malcolm Reynolds… not that she'd ever tell him that.

* * *

><p>God, he loves Phantasmagorium. Such an awesome shop… he can't believe Beckett's never even heard of the place. Skulls, cross-bows, chains, swords… and slutty nurse costumes. It's heaven on earth.<p>

As Fang-Master Frank heads for the backroom to get Crow's personal information, Castle can't help but play a bit. And with so many props at his disposal?

Let the games begin.

He turns his back to the detective, picking up a set of fangs off the display.

"Castle, what are you doing?" he hears Beckett ask as he pops the plastic fangs into his mouth.

He spins around to face her, playing dumb. "Do these make me look immortal?"

Reading the stunned look on her face, he decides to up the ante. Eyes sweeping over her lithe form, he takes a step towards her. "Do you want to, uh, go get something pierced?"

"No…" she replies, voice oozing with sensuality. Her eyes flash down, raking over his body, lustful heat bleeding from her tantalizing glare. "Do you?"

His words stick in his throat as he watches her raise an eyebrow suggestively. "Uh, wow," he gulps. He didn't expect that.

The prompt return of Dr. Frank rescues him from imminent embarrassment, because the way she was just looking at him - she looked like she wanted to… to…

Good god, all this talk of fangs and teeth and biting must be going to his head, because the idea of Kate Beckett's mouth on his skin, imagining the way her teeth would feel grazing his throat, tongue soothing his flesh as she nips at his neck…

Castle suddenly finds it very hot in the boutique, his head spinning.

"You coming, Castle?"

The writer snaps out of his trance to look up at Beckett who's holding the front door open, waiting for him to follow. He quickly exchanges an awkward smile with the dentist - who is staring at him inquisitively from behind the counter - before rushing to catch up to the detective who has already impatiently left the store.

He feels instant relief as he exits the shop, taking a deep breath as the cool, crisp autumn air wafts over his body.

Shit.

He may never be able to shop at Phantasmagorium ever again without needing a cold shower afterwards.

* * *

><p>Looking around Crow's apartment, Castle can't help but be impressed by the young man's talent as an artist - the remarkable drawings and paintings adorning the walls. Pencil sketches, watercolours, pen and ink, charcoal. And very powerful, profound subjects.<p>

"Oh…" he muses aloud, "he was quite the artist."

"Yeah," the landlady confirms, "but mostly comic books."

Castle smiles at the mention of comics. "Reminds me of early Frank Miller."

"Which Frank?" Beckett remarks nonchalantly from across the room. "Epic Comic or Dark Horse years?"

_What now?_ Beckett knows her comic lore?!

So hot!

Castle spins around to face her. "Oh, my God. That is the sexiest thing I ever heard you say. I had no idea you were interested in comic books."

"Oh, Castle," she teases, "the things you don't know about me could fill a book."

He grins at the comment, but can't help but recall how he'd quarrelled with her at his book launch party not too long ago - telling her that there wasn't enough to the character of Nikki Heat for more than one novel. Her sneering back at him that there was plenty to the character and that his talent as a writer was sub-par.

It was a superficial, childish and stupid fight... yet they came close to destroying their... partnership? Friendship?

Well, whatever it is they have.

But he's relieved they got past it, because he can't imagine writing any other character at this point in his life. James Bond may have been his inspiration to become a writer in the first place, but Kate Beckett inspires him now.

And she never ceases to amaze or astound him.

And the fact that she's a fan of graphic novels? He didn't think she could possibly be any sexier, but he was wrong.

Kate Beckett - closet geek? Yeah…

So very hot.

* * *

><p>Weaving through The Den of Iniquity as they search for Vixen, Castle swallows sharply at the sensation of female hands raking over his body. He can't help but be both a bit uncomfortable yet fascinated with the coven and its members. The romanticism of the whole vampiric lifestyle, the heavy make-up, the hot women in corsets.<p>

Sex in coffins.

He chokes slightly as he imagines Beckett's waist cinched tightly in a black corset that enhances her chest, her slim fingers crawling slowly up his core, her heated palms mapping his hard biceps and tight abs, her velvety lips tasting his neck…

He inhales deeply, working hard to reign in his wildly active imagination, because in a setting like this, he could get carried away quite easily.

Quickening his pace, the writer manages to catch up to his muse, but stops abruptly beside the detective as he is stunned by the sight of Vixen sucking fervidly on the wrist of another woman - the scene both disturbing and incredibly sexy.

He can't help but wonder what it would feel like to wrap his ravenous lips around Beckett's wrist until she gasps with erotic pleasure… suck slowly on her pulse point, listening to her moan in ecstasy... draw his wet tongue sensually along the length of her arm, feeling the shivers run along her skin, intense fire heating her veins as her pulse races… taste her soft shoulder, her elegant throat, her exquisite jaw, her luscious mouth… Leaving his mark on her bod-

_WHOA! STOP!_ Too much… too much!

He releases a heavy exhale as he refocuses his mind.

God, this case is going to be the death of him.

* * *

><p>That whole trip to The Den of Iniquity leaves Beckett shaking her head. How people can choose to involve themselves in that particular lifestyle is beyond her.<p>

And the way Castle seemed to be enjoying the visit still confuses her. Either he found that excursion to be very inspiring or he knows something about subcultures that she doesn't.

"You know," she voices, entering the bullpen, the writer right beside her, "what is it with these people and their dressing up like vampires, the covens, the drama?"

"Well, it's not about the costumes or the make-up. A lot of the people who are committed to the fantasy are a little different," he responds. "They're just looking for a place to fit in."

Yeah. She understands that completely. Cosplay with some of the other Sci-Fi geeks during her freshman year at Stanford were some of happiest times of her life. _Nebula 9_ series marathons, trips to SupernovaCon conventions. She had been a bit lost in high school, a bit uncomfortable in her own skin. So much so that she tried to fit in with _everyone_ - a fruitless search for her own identity. Never wanting to be herself so much as wanting to meet other people's expectations of who she should be.

But when she went to college, it was a chance to start over. Forge her own identity.

And when she first saw Stephanie Fry appear on screen as the ship's kick-ass science officer, Kate realized that she didn't have to be anyone but herself - a Sci Fi-loving geek. She'd been looking for a place to fit in and she found it thanks to Lieutenant Chloe and a melodramatic, short-lived television show.

So she understands the desire to belong… but it's the fascination with the blood and the coffins that doesn't make sense in her mind.

"They probably had something happen to them when they were younger," the writer explains. "Maybe they saw their dog get hit by a car, attended an open-casket funeral. The loss of a childhood friend or parent…"

His words pierce her. Like a knife stabbing, twisting into her heart... slowly, painfully, torturously. She was finally becoming comfortable in her own skin, discovering who she was… and then January 1999 slapped her across the face and pushed her down a rabbit hole. A deep and dark chasm that swallowed her whole.

"Some people become vampires," he utters, weighing his words carefully, "some people become cops."

She lifts her eyes to meet his gaze for a split second. It should shock her how well he can read her, but it doesn't. The little flip of her stomach isn't uncomfortable for once. This time it's reassuring.

Comforting even.

She doesn't have a chance to respond, however, as the boys soon interrupt their conversation, bringing her the actual name of their victim: Matthew Freeman.

Observing the meditative staring in her eyes as she looks down at her phone, it's not lost on Castle just how pensive Beckett has become. "Are you okay?"

She's taken aback by how calm and gentle his voice is. "I- I hate this part," she stammers, forcing a pained smile. "It's the, uh, phone call that changes everything."

"I could stay, if you like," he offers, voice soft and sincere, almost as if he cares.

She looks up from her trance, meeting his gaze. "Oh, no. Thank you," she replies in kind. "Sometimes it's easier without an audience."

He understands. Nodding, Castle rises from his chair, heading to the break room. He considers making a coffee, but instead stands just inside the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching her from afar through the wire mesh surrounding the bullpen.

He silently observes her speak into the phone, her face emitting all of the empathy and compassion that he knows she's feeling.

He wonders how she does it. How she can make those phone calls - be the bearer of such devastating news day after day. How she fights for justice when she has never received any in return. How she can continue to do battle for those without a voice.

How she can be so extraordinary.

* * *

><p>She spots her shadow in the conference room. He's completely engrossed in something - so focused. It's fascinating how the man can be so immature and so mature, fun-loving yet serious. He's quite the enigma, and not at all what she expected he'd be like after everything that had been splashed all over page six for so many years.<p>

Striding into the room, she slides across the edge of the table, playfully knocking his feet from the surface onto the floor.

"Hot on the case, Castle?" she grins.

"On the case of a good read," he remarks, holding up Crow's graphic novel. "It's actually not bad."

Flipping through the pages, the two quickly realize that Crow's character of 'Morlock' is identical to their murder suspect, Morgan Lockerby.

"Vixen was right," Beckett mutters, leaning in closer to get a good look at the drawings, her head lingering just above his shoulder.

She's completely focused on this revelation until she hears Castle's heated whisper against her ear. "You smell like cherries."

Turning her head to look at him, her face inches from his, the delicious scent of his cologne suffuses her senses. Time slows to a crawl. Hazel eyes lock on cobalt blue as electricity jolts between them, a rush of shivers chasing down her spine. Her breath catches in her throat, her mouth suddenly very dry as her gaze shifts to his mouth. They're hypnotic - his lips. His soft, luscious, sumptuous lips. Lips that she'd like to taste right n-

"Hey, we got a hit on the…"

Ryan's voice snaps her back to reality _very _quickly. She straightens frantically, fixing her hair to mask her… her… her what? Discomfort? Because whatever that was… it was anything _but _uncomfortable.

_Shit._

"Are we interrupting something?" Esposito teases, following his partner into the room.

"Yes," the writer affirms, while Beckett is simultaneously adamant in her denial. "No."

"O-kay…" Ryan muses, his partner pursing his lips together in a concerted effort to withhold his impending laughter.

She'd slap the smug look off the Latino's face if she wasn't so flustered, the heavenly aroma of _him_ still hovering around her nose. "Wh- what'd you get a hit on?" she stammers, steeling herself in an attempt to calm her erratically racing heart.

Beckett clears her throat as Ryan hands her a file. He's speaking, but she only registers a few words because the only thing racing through her mind is, _"Holy shit!... What the fuck was that?!"_

* * *

><p>Cherries.<p>

She smells like _cherries_, for god's sake.

Is the Universe_ trying_ to kill him? Make him melt into a puddle on the floor of her car?

He sits quietly in the passenger seat of her cruiser as they head for the Lower East Side. She's not speaking, and he's unsure of what to say. There was a moment. He can't deny it. And from the way she gazed deeply at him, the way her eyes darkened as they flickered to look at his lips… he knows she felt it too.

The problem is that he has no idea what _it_ is. This quivering in his stomach, this tickle at the back of his throat, this clenching in his chest… he can't define it.

And the freaking scent of cherries is relentless, taunting him from the driver's seat. He tightens his grip on the graphic comic, trying to focus entirely on the artwork on the page.

Observe.

Look for clues.

Don't think about cherries.

He releases a relieved exhale as the car pulls up to the corner of Broome and Clinton.

He exits the car as quickly as humanly possible, not wanting to look like he's trying to escape, but needing to get out of the confines of the tight space.

His mind must be hazy - playing tricks on him - because he almost thinks that Beckett looks like she is frantic to get out of the car too.

* * *

><p>"He bit me!" Castle repeats this statement for the umpteenth time as they ride up the elevator, voice panicked, hand clutching the side of his neck. "He freaking bit me!"<p>

Beckett rolls her eyes as the doors slide open. "Yes, Castle… I _know_," she remarks.

"What if I turn?" he exclaims, wide eyed, as he follows her to her desk.

"You won't."

"How do you know?" he squeaks.

"Because he's not a vampire," she huffs.

Castle turns to face the conference room windows, straining to get a look at the bite mark via the reflection. "But he bit me!" he cries, desperation in his voice. "And... his skin… burning... in the light…"

"There must be a logical explanation for that, Castle," she sighs, trying to remain patient.

"Yeah, there is," Castle nods, turning to look at her. She looks up at him, bracing herself for his inevitable reply. "He's a vampire!"

Beckett narrows her eyes, unimpressed, about to retort when Lanie traipses towards her desk, medical bag in hand.

"Okay, Castle…" the M.E. remarks, not even slowing as she grips his arm and yanks him into the conference room, "let's have a look at the damage."

The sassy doctor plops him into a chair and unceremoniously shoves his head to the side so she can get a look at the wounded flesh. The writer says nothing, and Beckett enjoys the silence - unsure if it's brought on by fear of the bite or fear of Lanie. But either way, she's not complaining.

"Hey Lanie…" she quips from her desk, "while you're taking care of his neck, you wanna see if you can do something about his big mouth, too?"

But she doesn't quite catch Lanie's response because her mind suddenly flashes to the image of Castle's lips - lips that were so very close to hers an hour ago. Lips that she was so tempted to paint with hers.

And if it hadn't been for the boys interrupting…

_Shit._

* * *

><p>She grins to herself as they drive to Daemon's apartment, unable to restrain her amusement as she thinks about how proud Castle was of being a grandfather… of an egg. How adorable he looked.<p>

The egg.

The egg was adorable. Not Castle...

_Not Castle._

She shoots a quick glance at the passenger sitting beside her, the expression on his face best described as apprehensive and pensive. He turns his head to look at her, his mouth gaping slightly before he shuts it again, words hesitating on his tongue. After a brief moment, he does it again, forcing her to dig.

"What, Castle?" she asks firmly.

"It's nothing," he grits through his teeth, uncertainly in his voice.

She cocks her eyebrows, semi-surprised by his response. "Oka-"

"Senior party," he blurts, cutting her off.

"Huh?"

"You pulled your Jedi mind trick on me, and now I'm all…" He can't find the words, instead choosing to shake his hands in front of him hysterically.

She can't help but chuckle at his parental paranoia, but considering what she was like during her teens, she supposes his doubts are justified. But this is Alexis, and from what she has seen of the girl - especially after witnessing the red-head lambaste the writer a few weeks ago about a music teacher - she's certain Alexis will be fine.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Castle," the detective placates as she pulls up beside the apartment building. "She's got a good head on her shoulders and… from what I have seen, she's way more responsible than you."

She shoots him a teasing grin that he reciprocates as they walk towards the building's entrance, but there's no way she can leave it there.

Heading down the hall, she laughs quietly to herself, "Although..." He turns his head quickly to glare at her, wide eyed, as she continues her thought, "I do remember this one time-"

"Detective," a uniform greets her in the hall, interrupting her recollection. "They're in there," he points at the unit at end of the hallway.

"Thank you," she nods as Castle releases a frustrated sigh and heads towards the door. Staring at his back, she can't help but wonder what kind of taunting and disturbing images he may have concocted in his brain; how his overactive imagination might be causing him to freak out about what Alexis might get caught up in.

It's cute the way he worries about his daughter.

She hates to admit it, but his fatherly side is kind of a turn-on.

"Silver bullet?" he asks as he approaches the crime scene, looking down at the dead werewolf.

And there's the nine-year old again.

* * *

><p>They're shuffling through the mound of news clippings and graphic art work that are scattered across the surface of the conference room table when Castle's cell begins to ring.<p>

She smiles sheepishly as she watches him check the caller ID and quickly answer the phone.

"Hey, Alexis," he smiles, "how you doing? Everything okay?"

The detective sifts through the files in front of her as her stomach flutters a bit at the sound of his voice - how joyous and proud and loving it is when he speaks to his daughter. It's kind of nice to get to see this side of him every so often. Refreshing.

She steals a glance at the writer, but is taken aback by the serious concern flashing deep in his eyes.

"I'm on my way," he blurts, rushing out of the room without another word, leaving Beckett in stunned silence.

He sounded worried, but not panicked, so it probably wasn't something horrendous, but she can't help the overwhelming sensation of perturbation building in her core. She doesn't even know Alexis that well… so why does she feel so worried?

Shaking it off, Beckett returns her attention to the files strewn across the wooden surface. She reads over the articles about the mysterious murdered woman, examines a few more of Crow's drawings, but she can't seem to focus.

Checking her watch, she notes the late hour and opts to call it a night. Neatly stacking all of the papers, she freezes momentarily as she notices Alexis' egg baby still sitting on the end of the table. Pensively biting down on her lip as she gazes at Feggin, Beckett resumes her slow collection of the files.

Placing the stack of papers on her desk, she then opens her bottom drawer. A smile teases the edges of her lips as she finds her empty candy dish at the back of the drawer, sitting beside her little stick man. Grabbing the tiny bowl, she returns to the conference room. After carefully lining the dish with the kleenex, she gingerly places the egg inside its tissue nest.

"Time for bed," she smiles at Feggin, putting the dish down on her desk before heading out for the night.

It's unorthodox to say the least - her taking care of Castle's egg grandchild. Definitely not something she would have ever imagined herself doing.

* * *

><p>She's not at her desk when he comes in, but Castle can't repress the adorable grin that lights up his face when he notices Feggin, sitting on the corner of her desk, cradled within a tissue-lined bowl. The thought of Beckett caring for the egg baby - that she bothered to make sure it was safe - washes him with warmth.<p>

Settling into his chair, he slides Feggin a bit closer, then picks up the file off her desk to catch up on anything new in the case.

He's engrossed in what they've uncovered when her voice pulls him back. "Hey, Castle. Alexis okay?"

He watches her sit down, reading the genuine concern and care in her eyes. He can feel his heart enlarging within his chest.

"She's a... She's a smart kid," he ruminates, replacing the file on her desk. A calming fire rushes through his veins as she beams warmly at him, her eyes speaking volumes.

Reaching down, he gently holds up the delicate egg baby. "You... took care of Feggin," he notes, his tone implying both sincere appreciation and admiration.

He swears Beckett flushes slightly as he smiles graciously, eyes beaming at her.

"Yeah, well," she stammers lightly, "he was easy." He replies with a genial smile as she continues, "He didn't even fuss when I put him to bed."

Her eyes meet his and then dart away quickly, unable to hold their gaze. He loves to taunt and tease her, and push her buttons, but he loves this even more. It's adorable - how flustered she gets when he's sincere and earnest.

"Yo," Esposito remarks, the boys approaching her works space. "Ready for more tales of the weird and strangely odd?"

And moment gone.

Those two have such _great _timing...

* * *

><p>Beckett can see the devastation weighing heavily on the poor man. To have your beloved wife murdered by your child's nanny, only to have her murder your son too. She's dealt with so many personal demons over the years, but she can't quite fathom this particular level of pain.<p>

Leading Mr. Freeman out of the break room, she notes the sorrow in Castle's eyes as well as the young, grief-stricken Rosie Freeman leaps into her father's arms. Her now single father. Raising a teenage daughter. On his own.

A daughter who just lost her mother.

She glances over at the writer once again, unable to find any words. This one hits a bit too close to home… for both of them.

She approaches the sombre writer, her eyes asking the questions her mouth can't formulate.

"I hope this doesn't destroy her," he utters, voice sober and dark, as they watch the father and daughter exit the precinct.

"Will for a little while," she replies with a flat whisper, "and then one day she'll wake up and it'll just be a part of her life." They're both pensive for a brief moment, entering the bullpen, before she baits him. "Who knows, maybe she'll become a writer."

"Or a cop," he offers respectively.

She smiles, acknowledging his remark in the positive tone in which it was intended, as they both take a seat at her desk.

Getting serious for a moment, she brings her arms up to rest on the flat surface, lacing her fingers together. She leans in slightly, eyes fixed on her desk as she breaches the topic she's been curious about for quite a while.

"You know, you still haven't told me where your fascination with murder came from," she whispers, voice low and raspy.

So he weaves a tale of the loss of youthful innocence, drawing her in, the detective hanging on his every word… until he can no longer suppress the sly smirk from forming.

Her eyes narrow as she registers what he just did. "You made that up?"

"It's what I do!" he laughs gleefully.

"You know what?" she exclaims. "You are so getting it for that one."

But he doesn't give her an opening. "The party is at nine o'clock," he chuckles, rising from his chair. "I cannot wait to see what you're wearing."

And with the final words being spoken, he exits the bull pen, leaving her to ponder her retaliation. Because what he just pulled deserves something special.

A special brand of torture reserved only for him.

And she knows exactly what to do.

* * *

><p>He can't believe she didn't show up. It's actually quite disappointing. Not that he actually expected her to show up in that slutty nurse costume -<em> though he was kind of hoping<em> - but he truly believed that she might make an appearance. If even for a few minutes.

But no… she didn't come.

Lost in thought as he hypnotically pets his fingers across the crown of his stuffed raven, he swivels quickly at the sound of a familiar, sultry voice behind him.

"Hey, Poe, looking for me?"

As Beckett approaches slowly - Lanie and the boys crowding his back - his heart sinks a bit as he notes a lack of costume or outfit.

"You're you," he states, obvious chagrin in his voice as his eyes skate over the long, black trench coat that's wrapped around her body.

"You sound so disappointed, Castle."

"I said costumes are mandatory. I mean, dress up. You know? Be a little scary," he pleads.

"Yeah, well," she breathes. "I was going for sexy."

He thinks he might stop breathing and drop dead at that very moment. Watching her slender fingers trace the edge of her belt, toy with the fabric, he feels his heart begin to pound wildly against his ribs. She came. She dressed up._ And_ she wore something salacious.

Maybe it's the nurse outfit?!

Oh. My. God. _Please be the nurse outfit!_

He can't stop staring at her waist, her long fingers moving agonizingly slowly - so much so that if she doesn't open her coat soon, he may just have to give her a hand… or two.

He swallows heavily as she continues to taunt him, his strong fingers unconsciously tangling around the neck the bird - wishing they were tangled instead in her hair… wrapping around the back of her head, pulling her in for a long, slow, kiss… his tongue exploring the darkest regions of her alluring mouth, inhaling the scent of cherries that wafts over her, allowing himself to melt into her and-

He jerks back, frantically jumping, as an alien worm unexpectedly pops out of her coat. Catching his breath, he glares at her in wide eyed shock.

"Now we're even," she smirks as if throwing out a challenge.

So that's how it's going to be, huh?

The writer offers her his stuffed raven. "I'm giving you the bird," he retorts, Lanie's raucous cackle echoing off the walls, but he doesn't hear it because his eyes are locked with Beckett's, silently accepting her challenge.

_'You wanna play? Let's play.'_

Oh yeah.

The fun is just getting started.

* * *

><p>xxxxx<p>

**If you'd like to know what I think Ryan and Esposito were up to during this episode, feel free to read my fic entitled "Crack in the Case"...The Boys v.s. The Egg.**

xxxxx

**So there you go… Judge away. :)**

**P.S. I'm going to be away for a bit, so I won't be posting another chapter for a bit longer than usual… but not too long, I hope.**

**A bientôt. :D**


	7. Famous Last Words

**EPISODE 7 - "FAMOUS LAST WORDS"**

He can see how Alexis' fear that Hayley Blue has, in fact, been killed is eating at her, tearing her apart.

"Look," Castle assures his daughter, "if there was any truth to it, I'm sure Detective Beckett would've called by now."

But isn't that always the way? The moment he finishes his sentence, his cell phone rings. Glancing briefly at the display on the phone, Castle immediately looks back at the girl in front of him. He reads the evident apprehension and anxiety written all over Alexis' face as he answers the call.

"Hello... Detective…" He simply listens to the voice on the other end of the line, trying very hard to school his features, give nothing away - like the champion poker player he is. His eyes lock on those of his daughter as he absorbs Beckett's words.

"Mmm-hmm…" he acquiesces into the speaker as Alexis stares at him, leaning forward, wide-eyed and inquisitively anxious as she mouths _'What?'_ at her father.

"Okay… I'll meet you there," he states before ending the call.

"Was that about Hayley?" the red head asks, voice cracking.

"I- I don't know," he whispers softly, running his hand gently up the side of her arm as he attempts to comfort and soothe her.

"Dad…" she chokes, looking up at him, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

"She didn't say…"

He reads the pain in his daughter's eyes, glistening tears welling as she swallows, but no words exit her throat.

"I gotta go, Pumpkin…"

He watches her nod once, head hardly moving, before he releases her shoulder. As he turns to head for his bedroom, he stops in his tracks at the sound of her mousy voice. "Dad…?"

Pivoting to look back into his office, he's momentarily startled by the crushing weight of arms wrapped around his torso, small head tucked underneath his chin, tiny hands gripping the back of his black t-shirt, tears soaking through the cotton covering his chest.

She doesn't say anything - she just holds him as if she's holding on to life itself. He returns the embrace, pulling his daughter tight against his body, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "I know, sweetie," he coos softly. "I know."

* * *

><p>Beckett is waiting for him at the mouth of the alley when he arrives.<p>

"Everything okay?" she asks, lifting the police tape.

"Yeah," Castle affirms, ducking under the yellow ribbon, "why?"

"When I phoned..." she hums, leading the way as they approach the crime scene. "You just seemed so… uh… so..."

"So…?" he prods, not quite sure what she's trying to insinuate.

Her face scrunches slightly before she squeaks, "Not your typical wise-ass self..."

"Ah," he nods. He's quiet for a brief moment before clarifying. "Alexis… she heard news that her favourite singer might have been killed last night…"

She sighs understandably, face growing solemn. "And then I called…"

"And then you called," he reiterates half-heartedly, voice saddened at the thought of his daughter's sorrow.

Nothing more needs to be said when they meet Perlmutter at the base of the fire escape, staring up at the corpse which is hanging from the ladder. His heart plummets at the sight of the dead woman.

"Broken neck," the crass M.E. concludes. "At least that's my prelim. No wallet, no phone, no ID."

Castle finds his voice, but wishes that - for once - he didn't. "She doesn't need ID."

Perlmutter turns to face the writer. "You know her?" Castle simply nods in response, heart in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you sure it's her?" the detective asks.

"That's Hayley Blue," Castle confirms. "I took Alexis to see her band, The Blue Pill, last year…"

His eyes rake over the make-up covered face of the young singer as he wonders what happened to the unfortunate girl, but he doesn't really listen to the M.E.'s response as he can only think about Alexis.

He's only ever wanted to protect her… keep the rose colour on her glasses as long as possible. But now? He thinks about all the music artists and actors he loved as a teen, and how much it hurt when some of them died tragically.

For a man who lives by the written word, he begins to worry about finding the right ones to use to break this tragic news to his daughter.

* * *

><p>Castle's quiet as her cruiser comes to a halt in its space in the precinct's underground parking. Beckett looks over at him, slightly concerned about his lack of cavaliere quips.<p>

"You okay?" she asks as they enter the back elevator.

Castle releases a heavy sigh, eyes fixed on the floor numbers as the illuminate while the elevator climbs. "It's just…"

His voice stalls. Looking up to meet Beckett's sympathetic gaze, the writer tries again. "Alexis adores Hayley Blue. I just don't know how… what I'm supposed to tell her… what to say…"

Beckett nods understandingly as the doors slide open. He's been indirectly seeking her advice and opinion more often lately with regards to fathering a teenage girl - but she doesn't have his gift for language. She bites her tongue lightly before opening her mouth.

"The death of a favourite musician can be like losing a friend sometimes," she begins, Castle looking up at her light smile. "But I'm sure you'll find the right words, Castle…"

"Yeah," he exhales as they approach the Bullpen, "I hope so…"

She's at a loss. She's not sure what else she should say, but as they round the corner, Montgomery's voice breaks the uncomfortable silence.

"It's about time you got back," her Captain remarks, stepping out of his office. "We've got a very persistent citizen waiting to ask you some questions."

Beckett's heart clenches momentarily as Alexis follows Montgomery into the open space. She's seen the girl only on a few occasions thus far, but seeing Castle step into his parental mode always has a disarming effect on her. There's just something about him as a doting father that she finds undeniably adorable.

But thoughts of Castle's parental charm dissipate quickly as Alexis mentions that her victim might have had a drug problem. And the detective can't help but be amused by his parental paranoia.

"Ahhhh… Okay! You know what," Castle interrupts Alexis' statement. "I think it's time we reset the parental controls on your computer."

"Please," his daughter counters, sass lacing her words. "I had to set the parental control on your computer, remember?"

"Speaking of which-" the writer pleads, but is unable to complete his thought.

"No!" she cuts him off with a wave of the hand.

Beckett purses her lips together as she observes the exchange, trying to mask her amusement and slight discomfort. If Alexis is upset, she's hiding it very well behind her sarcastic bravado. A coping mechanism perhaps? The apple doesn't seem to fall far from the tree. Like father, like daughter.

However, the show ends quickly as Esposito draws their attention.

"Beckett."

"Yeah?" she pivots to face the Latino.

"Street was negative for cameras…."

He continues to fill her in on what he and Ryan have managed to uncover, and the detective has never been more thankful for one of their interruptions.

Father being parented by daughter - though amusing, always a bit awkward to witness.

* * *

><p>Beckett re-holsters her glock as she watches Esposito callously shove Franco Marquez into the back of one of the police cruisers, slamming the door on Hayley's stalker.<p>

She slows her pace as she approaches her Crown Vic, Castle standing behind the open passenger door, observing the action with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

"I can't believe it," she remarks dryly, garnering his attention.

"What?" he remarks curiously.

She doesn't answer, instead running her tongue along the inside of her cheek, deep in thought, as she looks back at the blue-haired suspect in the back of the police car.

"_What?"_ he presses, now completely wrapped around her little finger.

She looks over at him seriously, face betraying nothing. "I've never believed in miracles," she replies as she peels the bullet proof vest from her torso, his expression evidently still intrigued, "but I might have just witnessed one."

Castle doesn't follow, watching her round the back of the car. "Huh?"

Tossing her vest into the trunk, she sidles to the driver's side, opening the car door. She pauses momentarily, milking the moment to its fullest as she watches Castle's eyes bounce between the bus, the suspect and her. She can practically hear the gears of his brain grinding as he tries to figure out what it is she saw that he - inexplicably - missed.

He looks back at her, face asking what his mouth isn't. Her deadpan eyes meet his lost gaze before a light smirk teases the edges of her lips.

"You stayed at the car," she grins slyly as she sits down behind the wheel. "Will wonders never cease?"

She revels in the sound of Castle's exasperated exhale, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he climbs into the passenger seat.

"Ha. Ha. Okay, you got me," he states flatly as he closes the door.

Turning the key in the ignition, she gently bites the inside of her mouth to suppress the desire to enjoy a laugh at his expense.

Point: Beckett.

The writer remains quiet for about five minutes before she hears him say the words she's been fearing since they left the recording studio.

"My first car chase," he mumbles, a giddy smile forming, eyes beginning to twinkle.

She shoots him a no-nonsense stare. "Your last car chase."

"I think I handled myself quite well, detective," he grins playfully.

"Read my lips, Castle," she declares. "Never again."

"Never say never, detective," he replies with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "And if you think I'm only okay when going slow, let me assure you that I like going fast sometimes too…" he adds canting towards her, his voice deep and husky and suggestive.

Her stomach flips, hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel as she endeavours to quell her erratic heartbeat. Seriously? She just had this guy wrapped around her finger a minute ago and now she's trying ignore the fact that he smells _so good…_

She keeps her eyes locked on the road, steels her expression before she notices him leaning in closer. But he doesn't look at her - instead, he looks at the dash. Her eyes follow his, glancing at her speedometer.

"Apparently you like it fast too…" he smirks.

Before she can catch herself, her foot lifts from the gas pedal - which she'd been apparently pressing into the floor - the car's velocity slowing quite abruptly.

She can sense the heated stare of his eyes, the lust burning against the side of her face. He knows what he just did to her. And he knows she knows it too.

Crap.

* * *

><p>Castle stares at the grunge guitarist as Beckett ends her phone call. This guy is such an arrogant, uneducated prick. Cease and resist letter? Seriously? Idiot.<p>

"Hayley's sister is on her way to the morgue to identify the body," she remarks, glaring at Zack. "Don't leave town."

Following behind her as she returns to her cruiser, Castle can't resist adding, "But feel free to bathe."

He walks away, revelling in the fact that the guitarist is most likely still trying to glean what was being insinuated.

As Beckett backs out of the warehouse, Castle's eyes lock on the filthy, drug addicted musician. "What a douche," he mumbles, pulling out his cell phone. "I can't believe girls fawn over…" he waves his hand openly searching for an accurate adjective, "..._that."_

"It's a female thing," Beckett reasons, not really thinking about her words as she pulls into the flow of traffic. "Most girls find bad boys attractive."

Beckett quickly bites her tongue as she realizes what she just admitted to the bad boy writer, but heaves a silent sigh of relief as he seems to be focused on his phone. "I really hoped my daughter would have more sense than that," he mutters.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Sending a text to Alexis," he replies, eyes locked on his phone while his fingers fly across the key pad, "letting her know I met her idols." Returning his cell to its home inside the breast pocket of his jacket, he groans heavily.

"She liked Hayley, Castle. And the band's music," she reminds him, quickly steering the conversation in another direction. "Not Zack Metzger himself."

"Yeah," he breathes, "thank god."

She smiles softly to herself as she senses the man beside her relax a bit as he looks out the window to his right, evidently lost in thought as the hypnotic flashes of New York brownstones flash by. Father Castle is so refreshing.

They enjoy a comfortable silence for several minutes before the inquisitive and suggestive lilt of the author's voice fills the car once again. "So… detective?..." He turns to face her. "What do _you_ find most attractive in a bad boy?"

Crap.

* * *

><p>Castle lifts his gaze from Alexis' laptop screen, processing what she just revealed about John McGinnis. About how he could profit from Hayley's death.<p>

The wheels in his head are turning rapidly as his mother's voice breaks the silence. "Now, does that man look like a killer to you?"

"Everybody looks like a killer to me," the writer muses, deep in thought. "It's a job requirement."

"You didn't say that about Sky," Alexis teases.

"Just... let me have this moment," Castle stutters, legitimizing himself for a brief moment before he pulls his cell out of his pocket and dials a familiar number.

Wrapping his arm around his daughter's shoulders, Castle squeezes her against his side as the phone begins to ring.

_"Hey Castle,"_ Beckett's teasing voice echoes on the other end. "_Did Alexis crack and admit to killing Hayley?"_

"No such luck," the writer beams at his daughter as her blue, doe-like eyes stare back at him, evidently confused by his remark. "But I think I have a better suspect for you."

_"Reverting back to the Butler?"_

"Not this time," he grins. "I think it might be worth looking into John McGinnis, Hayley's former manager."

_"What makes you think that?"_ the detective wonders.

"Apparently she and McGinnis might not have been on the best of terms," Castle explains. Before she has a chance to reply, he adds, "Besides… he looks like a killer to me," winking at his daugher and hastily ending this call.

He grins slyly as he slides his phone in his pocket. What he wouldn't give to see Beckett's exasperated reaction right now.

Good thing he has a fantastic imagination.

* * *

><p><em>What the…?<em> Castle and Beckett rush towards the back room of the band's warehouse just in time to watch a beer bottle leave Sky Blue's hand and fly across the room, smashing on the wall just above Zack's head.

The two fling insults at each other as the writer and the detective rush in, separating the fight.

"What did you do to her?!" Castle demands, violently turning Zack away from Sky, gritting his words through his tightly clenched teeth as he shoves the musician down into a ratty, orange club chair.

"Nothing, man! She attacked me!" the guitarist shouts defensively, fingers pointing wildly at Hayley's sister. "We were riffing on one of Hayley's songs. One minute, she's singing along, the next minute, she goes postal, starts telling me I'm stealing from Hayley! She's crazy!"

Castle feels his fist clenching, his body burning with rage. He can't believe the gall of this guy. This guy who wouldn't hesitate to hurt a young, defenseless woman… a young woman not that much older than Alexis. This asshole!

"It doesn't look good, Zack," he retorts firmly, accusatory, the heat and volume of his voice increasing incrementally as he stares down at the guitarist. "Beating up one Blue, killing another."

Zack starts to get up from the chair, insistent and frustrated and resistive. "Look," he shouts, "I already told you guys-"

"SIT DOWN!" Beckett slams back in his face as she rushes towards the offending man, growling as she bares her fangs and claws, finger pointed firmly at his face. "SIT!" Castle is stunned silent as he watches the guitarist falls back into the orange chair, hands up and open in defense. "Now talk," she demands.

Castle glares at Zack - eyes intense and piercing - as the guitarist pleads his case, protests his innocence. But as much as he is disgusted by the grunge musician, he's completed rapt by Beckett. The control and power. The commanding presence. The sheer dominance she has every time she faces off against the sleaze of society to defend the defenceless and give voice to the voiceless.

She is a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

><p>Hearing the sniffling, Castle watches silently as Beckett moves to the back of her cruiser to find Sky curled in on herself, tears flowing freely from her eyes, streaks staining her cheeks.<p>

Beckett crouches down beside the young woman, voice soft and gentle. "Hey."

"I was singing her words," Sky sputters, looking up at the detective, choking on the words as they crawl up her throat. "I could hear her voice. I could feel her like she was here."

Castle remains silent, listening to the sound of his own breathing mixing with theirs. He wants to be able to say something - do something - but his throat dries. He doesn't know the first thing about dealing with people who are suffering in this way.

He shifts his focus from Sky to Beckett, observing the pain and empathy swimming in the depths of her deep, dark eyes. He knows she has her own demons. Her own personal ghosts. But she pushes them down. Uses them to inspire the right words. The words Sky needs to hear. The truth.

"That's because your sister was strong," the detective whispers, voice tender and honest and sincere. "You thought that she was using again, but she wasn't. She was clean."

He remains silent as he watches Sky turn towards Beckett, reading the truth in the detective's face.

The women exchange no more words, allowing their eyes to communicate everything that words cannot. The shared pain of the loss of a beloved family member. Knowing what it is like to be haunted by her presence. The ghosts that stay with them in the words they speak. In the objects they treasure. In the air they breathe.

Beckett holds her hand out, extending it, opening it up, inviting Sky to take hold. To allow someone to help her up… to help her up in every way. He watches Sky look at Beckett's outstretched palm for several deafening minutes before she finally, hesitatingly, reaches up from her cocooned position and grips Beckett's hand with her own.

Beckett nods demurely, a slight expression of understanding and support crossing her face, as she slowly rises from her crouched position, helping the broken and distraught young woman to her feet.

Sky says nothing, but just looks Beckett in the eye one last time before turning around and heading off on her own.

Castle can do nothing, say nothing… he simply watches. Observes how Sky went from being completely broken to being willing to be rebuilt in a matter of moments and through so few words.

He'd always knew Beckett was extraordinary.

What he didn't realize was just how extraordinary she truly is.

And watching her slide into the driver's seat of her car, he thinks he probably never will.

* * *

><p>Returning to the warehouse, they find Sky in a dark corner, shivering and stuttering and doused in sweat. Castle and Beckett rush to her side, terrified that she relapsed, but Sky holds out her hand, a wad of cash crumpled within her grip.<p>

"I'm clean," the girl stammers. "She's gonna help me, right? Wherever she is, she's looking out for me, right?"

Beckett crouches down, smiling at Hayley's sister, proud that she was able to slay her demons. "She's already doing it."

"Come on," Castle reaches down to help her stand. "Let's get you out of here."

Helping Sky into the back of her car, Beckett and Castle rush the young woman to the nearest hospital.

As Beckett and one of the nurses accompany Sky to a room, Castle turns to the young man working behind the admitting desk.

"She's going through hell right now," the writer explains as he completes the information form. "Whatever she needs to get better, make sure she gets it." The young man nods, taking the form from Castle.

The young man looks over the paperwork to ensure it's completed correctly as Beckett returns.

"She's asleep," the detective remarks, reading the concern on Castle's face. "The doctors assure me they'll look after her."

Walking side by side as they exit the hospital, Beckett quietly mutters, "I have no idea how she's going to pay for this…"

"She won't have to," Castle whispers as he opens the car door.

Beckett looks up at him, curious.

"I wrote my address in the billing section," he explains softly as he climbs into the car, no sense of hubris or pride at all in his tone.

The detective remains standing for a moment, absorbing his words. He might be an immature jack-ass most of the time, but sometimes…

Sometimes there's a wonderful, warm, caring, loving, generous, selfless man that emerges.

Sometimes he surprises her.

A mystery she's never gonna solve.

* * *

><p>Beckett smiles as she watches Castle head towards the elevator. Hayley Blue's killer is in custody. Sky Blue is recovering well.<p>

And Castle…

She watches him stop in his tracks, pause, and pivot, returning to her desk.

"Come with me?..." he asks gently, standing toe to toe with her, cobalt blue tenderly peering into dark hazel.

Beckett is confused for a brief moment before she has her epiphany. She nods once with a smile that lights up her eyes, grabbing her scarf and coat off the back of her chair. "Let's go."

After picking up Martha and Alexis at the loft, the four head to Alphabet City for the outdoor memorial concert. There's already a large crowd gathered around the stage, the sound of Sky Blue's voice floating in the night air.

Picking up their candles, Martha and Alexis light theirs off of Castle's flame. He then turns towards Beckett, holding up his candle, the flame flickering in the light breeze. The glow of the soft light dances in his eyes as she looks up at him, smiling warmly, her pulse beginning to match the rhythm of the drum beat in the background.

Time slows as she silently reads over the volumes of his face, the warmth in his eyes.

"Dad?'

The silky voice of his young daughter wakes her from her hypnotic reverie… and apparently him as well. She shoots him a gentle smile before lighting her own candle - using his flame - the metaphoric action not lost on her.

But she quells the fluttering in her heart as she follows Castle and his daughter to meet Martha near the stage.

As Sky begins to sing her sister's lyrics, Beckett really hears them for the first time.

"_People change… and instantly…_

_I'm not the same girl I used to be._

_I can't erase all the memories,_

_But I can explain if you're listening…"_

With Castle standing beside her - arms lovingly wrapped around his daughter - Beckett can't help but feel an ethereal glow of happiness from alighting inside.

She didn't even see it happen, but it did.

She's changing.

She's changing.

* * *

><p>xxx<p>

**Due to the father-daughter nature of this episode, it was a bit more of a challenge to find the Caskett-y filler moments, but I think it worked out.**

**As always, typos belong to me. *le sigh***

**So there you go... Judge away. ;)**


	8. Kill The Messenger

**This poor fic was starting to feel neglected... but this episode was a real challenge.**

**And then Real Life got in the way... and yeah. :P**

**But here we go - back to season 2.**

* * *

><p><strong>EPISODE 8 - "KILL THE MESSENGER"<strong>

Ending her call with dispatch, she gets up from her desk, grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. "Body. SoHo," she calls to the boys who are coming back from the break room. "Apparently a hit and run."

"You gonna call Castle?" Ryan inquires, plunking his coffee mug on his desk before grabbing the car keys out of his top drawer.

Beckett narrows her eyes, shooting him her patented glare. "Yessss…" she hisses, sighing heavily.

She _so_ doesn't feel like having her shadow follow her around today. But even she has to admit that he comes in handy… from time to time.

"Meet you there," she sighs, opening her contact list on her cell as she holds up the post-it note on which she'd written the address.

Ryan proceeds to grab the slip of paper from Beckett's grasp while Esposito snags the keys from his hand.

"Hey-"

"I'm driving," the Latino remarks with a smug grin as he traipses towards the elevator.

Ryan releases a belaboured exhale as he glances at Beckett, only to be met with a teasing smile. "Shot gun…" he mutters, chasing after his partner.

Beckett bites back a chuckle - their Laurel and Hardy act always a source of amusement - as she presses her phone to her ear.

After only one ring, her heart begins to palpitate a little bit faster as his deep, husky voice fills her ear.

"_Yes, Beckett. Either there's a dead body or you just want to hear my sultry voice."_

Damn him and his suave demeanour. _Crap crap crap crap crap._

She steels herself. He will not get to her.

Not today.

She has to make sure he knows she's not playing. She closes her eyes and calms her racing heart. Her voice is flat and dry, her tone unimpressed and gruff as she speaks a single word. "Castle."

And that's enough.

"_Dead body it is. Where?"_

She quickly gives him the address before stepping into the elevator and ending the brief call. Leaning against the back wall of the elevator cab, Beckett flops her head against the precinct crest as the doors shut. Her tongue digs into the side of her cheek as she shuts her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose.

The last time she saw him, they were standing shoulder to shoulder, being enveloped by the ethereal lyrics of Hayley Blue's swan song. The way he'd looked at her that night, the way his delicious scent infiltrated her senses, the heated proximity of his body as she lost herself in the message of the song…

She isn't sure _what_ she'd felt. But she'd felt _something_…

And it terrifies her to think she might feel it again.

* * *

><p>Pulling up in front of the Cecil Hotel, Beckett looks over at the quarantined area, the police barricade surrounding the victim.<p>

And there he is. Standing over the body in his tailored pinstripe suit, looking deliciously handsome and debonair, his blue silk shirt complimenting the cobalt of his eyes. The slight breeze tickles the tips of his perfectly coiffed hair… and she can't help but envy the wind. How it twists and trails through his soft hair. How she wishes she could do the same with her fingers - run them over his scalp, tease the nape of his neck, pull him in for a long, slow ki-

_Whoa! Wait!... What?!_

Staring at her hands that are tightly gripping the steering wheel, Beckett quickly shakes her head, clearing out such unwelcome thoughts. Thoughts that have no business being in her head.

Not now.

Not ever.

She inhales deeply before bracing herself, burying Kate down deep, Detective Beckett emerging. Stepping out of her Crown Victoria, she crosses over to the blue barriers.

"You got here fast, Castle."

He flashes her a smile as he replies. "My side of town."

That smile. It is _not_ going to get to her. It's _not!_ She has a crime to solve. _Focus, Beckett_.

So she immediately turns her attention to Esposito. The case. Work the case. "So, what do we got?"

* * *

><p>Caleb Shimansky is dead.<p>

And the unfortunate bike messenger had been delivering a package sent from Shakir Nidal Mattar - a known terrorist.

Castle's breath catches in his throat as he throws on his bulletproof vest and follows Beckett into the dilapidated 72nd Street apartment building, trailing closely behind the heavily armed tactical unit.

He can feel his pulse accelerating as they approach the apartment door and is unexpectedly torn between being excited and terrified. As he crouches beside the far wall, the writer suddenly begins to understand just how much police work is not a day at Disneyland.

The whole operation is smooth and silent, hand signals flashing between the ESU team and Esposito, and Esposito and Beckett.

He'd heard Esposito was former military, but seeing the Latino in his element like this… it is incredible to watch.

The men in full body armour quickly position themselves outside the door. With one final hand signal from Esposito, they storm into the apartment after breaking down the door with a single kick.

Rifles at the ready, they pour through the doorway… yelling… shouting… cats shrieking…

_Cats? _

Last to burst through the door, Castle stops in his tracks at the sight that apparently threw the entire team off-kilter - a confused and frail older woman, respirator in her nose, staring back at them.

And before he knows what is happening, Castle is wedged on a ratty Victorian settee between Ryan and Esposito, a bone china tea cup in hand, cats crawling all over him.

Just another day at the office.

* * *

><p>Ryan interrupts the debrief as he pokes his head into Montgomery's office. "Hey, Beckett. Paisley Shimansky's here to see you."<p>

Beckett slowly removes the phone from her ear, ending her call as she addresses her Captain. "It's the bike messenger's sister," she explains softly, knowing that a phone call can wait. That this is more important. "Excuse me."

Watching her exit the office, Castle observes her cross over to her desk, settling down in front of the grieving young woman. Montgomery joins the writer, the two of them standing in his office doorway, unable to break their gazes, watching the detective fall into an empathetic, comforting conversation with the bike messenger's sister.

"How does she do that?" Castle mutters, still amazed by her ability to break tragic news to a love one.

"Better than anyone I know," the Captain replies, intense admiration in his tone.

Unable to find words for a moment, Castle takes a deep breath. "You okay?"

"Her brother died trying to get something to me," Montgomery sighs. "No, I'm not okay."

Watching Montgomery retreat into the sanctuary of his office, Castle can do nothing but remain stagnant in the doorway. For the first time, he feels so helpless. Roy Montgomery is his poker buddy… his friend.

Castle can't even begin to imagine the weight that Montgomery might be feeling – feeling like he is responsible for the death of someone innocent.

Someone's family member.

* * *

><p>Montgomery can't believe what just came out of his mouth. "<em>Two fresh bodies and you wanna look at a murder ten years cold?" <em>He's even more taken aback by the lack of reaction from Beckett. A ten year old unsolved… and he might as well have just slapped her in the face. But she didn't flinch. She didn't snap.

She just continues to insist that the answers to their current murder might be found in his arrest of Brady Thompson so long ago.

And of course Castle _would _insist that this is just like the stories he writes. As if writing pulp fiction can compare to solving real murders.

"Castle, this is not one of your books," the Captain all but growls at the writer.

"No, but it is a mystery," Castle insists, Beckett quietly supporting his suggestion with a slight grin as she allows the writer's comments to sway her Captain. "And all mysteries are the same. Motive, opportunity, cover-up, conscience. These murders today were to cover up one ten years ago. That's where your leads are gonna be."

Montgomery's eyes fall on the pictures of Caleb Shimansky and Brady Thompson. One murder to cover up another. Two innocents who died - possibly because of something he screwed up ten years ago.

The past he's been trying so hard to bury was coming back to haunt him yet again. Like the ghost of Christmas past.

Another nail in his coffin.

"Come on, Captain, what do you say?" Castle prods. "Let's take a little trip down memory lane."

The three of them remain silent for what seems like an eternity. He can feel the heated glares of both the detective and the writer burning the side of his face. Looking up from the files in his hand, he stares straight ahead, expression blank.

He can't even bring himself to look Beckett in the eye as he chews on the inside of his cheek. Finally, he hands the files over to the detective, quickly pivoting to return to his office.

"Do it," is all he manages to utter before closing his door behind him.

He lumbers over to his desk, body suddenly feeling like it weighs a ton. Flopping himself down into his chair, he reaches over to the shelf behind him and grabs his silver flask.

Unscrewing the cap, his eyes flash over to spy the detective and writer stepping into the elevator - on their way to archives.

To dig through the past.

Taking a swig, the liquid burns as it trickles down the inside of his throat. The pain feels good. Like he deserves it.

Because there are a lot of things he regrets about his past. And no matter how much he has poured himself into the job, it never seems to be enough.

Past is prologue, after all. And he knows that this… this is only the beginning.

But that doesn't mean it's too late to make it right.

* * *

><p>Castle's quiet during the ride to the morgue. Seeing Perlmutter isn't something he ever looks forward to, but that isn't what's bothering him. He just doesn't know if he should-<p>

"You okay?"

Her voice snaps him from his trance. Castle looks over at Beckett, suddenly remembering he's in the car.

"Yeah…" he nods innocently, but his body language betrays him. She knows his tells.

"Castle."

He sighs heavily, not really wanting to speak. But he knows that she can see right through him.

"I… uh… I just wondered… um…" he stammers, trying to find the right words. Taking a deep breath, he tries again. "I mean… are _you_ okay?"

She obviously didn't expect that, because her head swivels quickly to face him, her eyes inquisitive and evidently confused.

"About what Montgomery said…" he elaborates softly. "Him shocked that you wanted to investigate a cold case from ten yea-"

"I'm fine, Castle," she insists, cutting him off as she refocuses on the road ahead of her.

"You sure?" Castle asks, his eyes soft as he tries to gauge her.

"This is about Olivia Debiasse," she replies flatly, "and Brady Thompson and Caleb Shimansky."

Castle just looks at her, observing her silently for a few seconds before releasing an elongated exhale. "Okay."

His gaze returns to the road in front of him, but - out of the corner of his eye - he can see her grip tighten on the steering wheel.

He knows exactly what she's doing. He's seen it so many times.

But he bites his tongue as she compartmentalizes her emotions. Because if she doesn't want to talk about it, he won't push. Not again.

* * *

><p>"You really think this Jeff Dilahunt could be our guy?" Castle asks as he exits the car.<p>

"He had means and motive," she remarks, rounding the trunk of her cruiser, stepping on to the sidewalk.

"Now all we need is opportunity," Castle grins as they tread towards the entrance of the Pierson Club, the gilded front doors of the beautiful Victorian era building an early indication that they are about to cross into _very _high society.

But before she can set foot on the red carpet of the main staircase, Beckett feels Castle's large hand lightly grip her forearm, holding her back.

"What?" she snaps, turning to face him. His debonair grin beams back at her, a playful glint in his eye.

"I'm pretty sure that clubs like this aren't exactly your scene, detective," he leers, turning on the devilish, badboy charm. "You want me to show you the ropes?"

But two can play at this game.

"No thanks, Castle," she replies with a fiendish grin, closing the space between them. "I'm quite_ familiar_ with ropes... but I _prefer_ to use my cuffs..."

A sly smile teases her lips as she pulls away from a stunned Castle and climbs the stairs - the writer practically choking as he registers her full meaning.

While the uniformed doorman holds the door open for her, she shoots a playful glare over her shoulder, looking down at the writer who is frozen in place, biting his fist. "You coming, Castle?" she smirks.

"Yeah… yeah…" he breathes heavily, chasing up the stairs.

She grins to herself as she passes through the entrance, not quite waiting for her shadow to catch up.

Point: Beckett.

* * *

><p>Back to the Pierson Club. Twice in two days. Looking around at the impeccably dressed patrons who are seated on the gorgeous, leather wing-backs, Castle momentarily entertains the thought of perhaps looking into what a membership might cost.<p>

Well… okay… maybe an eighth of a membership.

But the desire to frequent this social club dissipates quickly as he realizes that he'd have to be a member alongside the priggish Wellesleys. And that really doesn't hold any appeal whatsoever.

Refocusing, he listens intently as Beckett continues to question Winston Wellesley, inquiring about his alibi for the night of Olivia's murder, the pompous jackhole sending out a holier-than-thou vibe with his curt answers.

"Can anyone corroborate that?"

"Yes," the older man grits smugly, sipping his whiskey. "God."

But before they have a chance to get in another word, Wellesley makes his slyly calculated escape. Castle slides into the once-occupied barstool, convinced of an affair, but not of murder. The plot continues to thicken - and he's loving it!

"Mmmm," he muses, signalling the bartender to bring him two fingers of scotch. "Jealousy. Money. Murder. Does it get any better than this?"

The bartender promptly deposits two tumblers of golden liquid on the bar top - one in front of the writer, the other within reach of the detective. Picking up his glass, the ice cubes clinking together, he gestures towards her. "Cheers."

"I'm on duty, Castle," she remarks flatly, leaving her glass untouched.

"It's just a _friendly _drink, detective," he argues, watching her reply with nothing but a roll of the eyes. "But, then again, you don't believe that a guy and a girl can be _just friends_…" he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows as he locks his eyes on hers.

He promptly takes a sip of the rich alcohol, disguising his clever smile as she fails in her attempt to keep herself from blushing.

Point: Castle.

* * *

><p>Montgomery stares through the window at the burly prison guard who was dumped in Interrogation One, listening to Ryan and Esposito's findings - that the man had red-flagged because he'd been taking dirty money tied to Brady's murder. Fifteen thousand dollars.<p>

Flashes of John Raglan and Gary McCallister flood his mind… and he shakes them off quickly. Fallen idols. People who no longer define the kind of cop - the kind of _man_ - he is today.

"If there's anything I hate, it's a dirtbag in uniform," he utters, unsure if he's saying it for their benefit or for his own. But the words seem bitter on his tongue. Like he has no right to say them. Like he is trying to convince himself that fixing this wrong could start to make things right.

He wants this one. _Needs_ this one. "Keep pushing on that," he orders, directing the boys to follow up on their leads. Returning his focus on the man in the box, his voice deepens. "I'll push on this."

Entering the interrogation room, eyes cold as steel, he stares down at the younger man. It's like looking in a mirror - seeing a law-enforcement officer who had become a sell out. The guard simply glares up at Montgomery, unimpressed, until the Captain's expression alters.

A dangerous grin teases at the edge of Montgomery's mouth, but he says nothing. He just closes the door very gently, and then proceeds to shoot a glance at his suspect while shutting the window blinds. Turning back towards the guard, Montgomery notes how the man's face suddenly flushes, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallows heavily, a slight glistening of sweat beading on his brow.

The Captain leans over, pressing one hand onto the table as he crowds the guard's personal space. The echoing sound of the man's uncomfortable gulp is like music to Montgomery's ears.

Now to make him sing...

* * *

><p>Montgomery heaves a sigh of relief. Knowing Frank Davis was locked up in a holding cell, the thrill of finally bringing Olivia Debiasse's killer to justice - moreover, that he'll be able to give closure to Olivia's aunt - is exhilarating.<p>

Castle is elated for his friend - noting how the heavy burden that had been weighing Roy down for days has been lifted from shoulders.

Watching the Captain return to his office, Castle can't help the feeling of pride that's swelling inside his chest. Gazing at the detective standing beside him, he wonders what that revelation might mean to her. The idea that even ten years later, the truth won out.

That there's still hope.

Glancing over at Beckett's desk, they both look at Paisley Shimansky who's patiently waiting… waiting for news about the death of a beloved family member.

Waiting for closure.

"I don't suppose having answers makes it any easier," Castle sighs, observing the distraught young woman from afar.

There's a brief pause before she answers, her voice solemn as she looks over at the bike messenger's sister. "It does," she utters. "In time."

He can't bring himself to respond, his mind blank save for a single thought. As he watches her cross over to her desk, he marvels how she managed to not allow her personal history to affect her during this case.

Her ability to empathize with the victim yet compartmentalize her emotions continues to astound him.

As the writer watches Beckett speak with Caleb Shimansky's sister, the statements that had been thrown in her face during this case echo in his mind.

"_Do you remember what you were doing ten years ago?"_ the waitress had remarked.

"_You wanna look at a murder ten years cold?" _Montgomery had challenged.

Castle's sure that, both times, she'd probably wanted to explode - but both times, she'd bitten her tongue, remained stoic. Focused.

He can't begin to fathom how she can continue to do this… hunt murderers and solve cold cases on a daily basis, yet never find closure for herself.

Standing beside the mesh wall of the bull pen, his eyes locked on the detective, Castle takes a deep breath - and resolves that he'll keep showing up. Continue to be there. Right beside her. Watching, waiting, hoping that one day Kate Beckett will find the closure that she so desires.

And that maybe - just maybe - she'll even let him help.

* * *

><p><strong>At first, I tried to figure out where the Castle-Beckett moments might fit - which was proving to be very difficult. <strong>

**But after seeing **_**Veritas**_**, I watched this episode - Montgomery in particular - with a completely different perspective.**

xxx

**I know it's not Caskett heavy, but this is what poured out.**

**Hope you liked it.**

**As always, typos belong to me.**

**Judge away...**


	9. Love Me Dead

**EPISODE 9 - "LOVE ME DEAD"**

The soft glow of the streetlights illuminate the darkened sidewalk as she makes her way to her Crown Vic which is parked in front of the precinct. Scrolling through her contact list, she releases a light sigh as she selects his number. It rings once before he answers.

"_Castle."_

The tone of his voice on the other end of the call catches her off-guard. It's not as playful… not as immature. Not quite… him.

"It's Beckett," she states, shaking off the concern that's lingering. "Got a body."

"_Uh-huh…" _he mutters, his brain evidently elsewhere. Perhaps he'd be a bit more enthusiastic about the obscure nature of the murder.

"Apparently the vic fell out of the sky."

"_Okay…" _His voice is still distant.

She furrows her brow as she chews lightly on the inside of her lower lip. "The boys I.D.'d him as 'Clark Kent'..." she smirks.

He doesn't even bite. "_Sure…"_

Really? Nothing?! Something's definitely up. "Castle? Everything okay?"

"_Huh?"_ he starts, evidently snapping himself from whatever daze he was in. "Body. Yeah… got it. Meet you there."

Beckett simply stares at her cell, a confused look painted across her face as the call comes to an end. _What the hell was that about?_ She's never known him to be quite so out-of-it… except when… Meredith…

No.

No way. Not Meredith. Not again. Couldn't be.

Could it?...

She opens the door of her cruiser with a bit more fervour than necessary, throwing herself into the driver seat.

Shaking the thoughts of the deep fried twinkie from her head, she quickly texts Castle the address of the upper Eastside parking garage.

She inhales slowly, gathering herself as she carelessly tosses her cell on the passenger seat. _Why am I even worrying about this? _It doesn't matter what he does in his free time. His personal life is just that… _his_. He can sleep with whomever he wants. And if that means having sex with his vapid, flighty, impetuous ex-wi-

The sudden ring of her cell interrupts her musings. Taking a deep breath, she reaches out and grabs her phone, glancing at the familiar number displayed on the screen.

"Hey Ryan," she answers, her voice firm, solid. "On my way."

"_Did you call Cas-"_

"Yes," she huffs. "See you in ten." Rolling her eyes, she quickly ends the call before the Irishman can respond.

Damn it.

Pressing her head against the headrest, she briefly closes her eyes and releases an elongated breath. Castle is not her boyfriend. He's not even her partner. He's her… her…. her _what_?_ Her writer_? Her shadow?...

So he seemed distracted. So what?

She steels herself as her eyes pop open. She promptly turns the key in the ignition, her cruiser roaring to life. Pulling out onto the road, fingers squeezing the steering wheel, she reminds herself it doesn't matter what he does in his personal time. It doesn't matter at all.

It doesn't...

It doesn't.

* * *

><p>Spotting the flashing halo of red and blue disco lights above the patrol cars, Castle leans forward to speak through the holes in the plexiglass.<p>

"You can drop me off right here."

The cabbie pulls up alongside the curb as Castle shoves some bills in the slot and hops out of the taxi.

Typically, he'd be itching to see what nefarious, murderous acts had been committed - no crime scene too uninspiring. But his mind is elsewhere as he pads towards the alley - he can't help but wonder who Alexis was talking to on the phone. What she was talking _about_…

"_I... I can't tell him. He'll freak."_

A boy from school? Does she think he was born yesterday? There's more to this story. She's keeping something from him.

But she never keeps _anything_ from him! He's the cool dad! She's always talked to him about everything. And now…

"Hey, Castle."

The teasing lilt of Beckett's voice wakes him from his haze.

"I hope we didn't take you away from something important…" she smirks, "or someone."

But his mind is occupied with thoughts of his daughter. "Did you ever keep secrets from your dad?" he asks.

"Sure."

He looks over at her, meeting her intrigued gaze, genuinely curious. "What kind?"

"Do you really want to know?" she grins, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"About your secrets? Absolutely. About my daughter's...?" He pauses for a brief moment, gritting his teeth as he muses upon the question of what secrets a fifteen year old girl might hide from her father. He quickly changes his mind. Maybe he's better off not knowing. "You know what, I'm sure it's nothing. Alexis would never keep anything serious from me. I'm the cool dad."

Beckett can't help but smirk at the haughty remark. "Uh-huh…" she taunts, turning her attention to Captain Montgomery and the dead man sprawled across the hood of the grey car. But her mind wanders for a split second.

Alexis.

She should have known it was his parental paranoia that had him so distracted during their phone call. Approaching the scene, she instantly feels less anxious... less burdened… lighter.

Weird.

* * *

><p>Scrolling through Jack Buckley's financial history is proving less than thrilling, but Beckett can't help but grin to herself as she spies the writer out of the corner of her eye, sitting in his chair, face completely buried in his so-called "<em>Cape Fear<em> file."

It was amusing - cute even - how excited he got, identifying Norman Jessup so quickly due to his familiarity with Buckley's file… not that she'd ever tell him that.

"Yo!" They both look over at Esposito who simultaneously swivels his chair to face her desk, his hand covering the phone's speaker. "Got a twenty on Jessup. Public House Bar. Midtown."

"Got it," she nods, rising from her chair, grabbing her coat off the seat as she heads for the elevator, Castle hot on her heels, file in hand.

"So… a bar," Castle raises his eyebrows playfully as he steps into the elevator cab. "Can I buy you a drink, detective?"

"_Seriously_?" she replies dryly, shooting him an unimpressed glance.

"What?!" he shrugs, a sly, brooding grin forming on his lips. "Law of averages. I figure if I keep asking, some day, you might actually say 'yes'."

"Yeah…" she scoffs as the doors open. "When hell freezes over."

"Have I told you how much I like the cold?" he smirks, following her to her cruiser.

"Get in the car, Castle," she retorts.

"Would you cuddle with me to keep me warm?" he smoulders, ignoring her brush-off.

"Castle…" she warns.

"I'm a good cuddler," he insists, watching her sit down behind the wheel, huffing loudly as she shakes her head.

An impish grin pulls on the edge of his lips as he opens his car door. God he loves to tease her.

* * *

><p>He's uncharacteristically quiet in the car - completely immersed in his "<em>Cape Fear<em> file" - when she stops at a red light.

Thoughts of cuddling with Castle won't stop taunting her.

She can't help but glance quickly at the man in the seat beside her, marvelling at his large hands and muscular arms… picturing them wrapped tightly around her body, pressing her so close to his chest that she might hear the rhythmic thumping of his heart, feeling his warm breath on her cheek, wafting in the delicious aroma of his cologne, melting as his soft lips brush across her-

"See something you like, detective?" he grins. Her eyes shoot up to meet the heated stare of dark blue orbs.

She swallows quickly, turning her attention back to the road, the light conveniently turning green.

"Just wondering what's bigger - your mouth or your ego," she covers quickly as she accelerates.

"Well you know what they say about men with big… egos…" he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She says nothing, replying only with a roll of her eyes. Because she doesn't need to be thinking about his… ego… right now!

Job.

Focus.

Luckily, only minutes later, they walk in on a bar fight and all thoughts of Castle's… ego… get crushed as he takes a fist to the left side of his face.

Guess he'll be needing some ice to heal his bruised… ego.

* * *

><p>Though she actually wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene taking place in the back seat of her cruiser, Beckett schools her features as she glances in her rearview mirror, kind of amused as Jessup tries to teach Castle how to escape her handcuffs.<p>

"...left over right, right over left…"

"I think I made it tighter," Castle mutters.

Yeah… a regular Abbott and Costello show. But as amusing as the two of them are, she needs to find her suspect. So she needs Jessup to pay attention.

"Jessup, do you see the building?" she inquires.

"Uh, that's a negative," he remarks after taking a quick look around, Castle still struggling with the cuffs.

She briefly contemplates the benefits of putting the childish writer in cuffs more often when her phone ring interrupts her scheming mind.

"Beckett," she answers. "Oh, hey, Alexis."

Suddenly Castle is no longer interested in the cuffs, his attention drawn completely to the one-sided phone conversation.

"Uh, are you looking for your dad?" Beckett continues. "To me? Okay, what's up?... Yeah, yeah, we can meet at Suttons around 7:30. Is that okay?... Alright, I'll see you then."

"Was that Alexis calling you?" Castle wonders aloud when she ends the call. "Why?"

"She needed my advice."

"About what?" he prods.

"I don't know," the detective shrugs nonchalantly. "It's probably no big deal."

After taking a moment to ponder her conclusion, he finds himself unsatisfied and even a bit concerned. Leaning forward between the gap in the seats, Castle tries to read Beckett's face. He knows her tells. "When you kept secrets from your father, was it not a big deal?"

She meets his eye for a second before glancing down at his cuffed wrists, and his moment is gone.

"You know, I'm not even going to ask," she murmurs, returning her attention to the road, giving him no answers.

But it's just as well because Jessup quickly speaks up, pointing out the building they've been hunting.

"Let's go get 'em," Jessup exclaims excitedly from the back seat.

"Not you," Beckett retorts. "Us."

Pulling up in front of the building, she opens her door to get out of the cruiser before she pauses and turns to look back at Jessup.

"You stay in this car or…"

"Lady, I do not want to go back to jail," Jessup insists. "I'm stayin' right here. Promise."

"Forgive me, but the promises of a felon don't really sit well," she replies dryly.

"Aw, come on, Beckett," Castle pleads. "He's a wordsmith."

She glares at Castle, eyes narrow, deadly. "Fine," she relents, voice sharp as she grabs Buckley's file off the passenger seat before exiting the car. "Wouldn't do any good to cuff you anyway."

"Speaking of cuffs…" Castle queries, holding out his bound wrists as he follows her into the apartment building.

She shoots his wrists a quick glance before grinning slyly and stepping through the front doors. Castle looks down at the steel around his wrists before hastily chasing after her, meeting her at the elevator.

"Okay, you've had your fun," he states, slight trepidation in his voice as he holds out his arms. "Will you please unlock these now?"

"I dunno Castle," she remarks flatly stepping into the elevator. "What're you gonna do for me in return?"

"Anything…" he nods, wide-eyed and serious, "c'mon…"

"Anything, huh?..." she muses aloud as the elevator numbers continue to light up at they ascend higher and higher.

"Please..." he begs.

"Okay, Castle," she relents with a smirk, pulling out her key and proceeding to unlock the cuffs. "But only because I can't have you handcuffed when we show up at our suspect's front door."

"Thank you," he breathes, massaging his sore wrists. "Now if you have a pair of fur-lined cuffs, I'd be _more_ than happy to wear _those_," he grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

Slapping Buckley's file against Castle's chest - hard - he purses his lips together, withholding a chuckle. He takes the file from her as the elevator doors choose that moment to open on to the eighth floor.

Thank god.

But she grins slyly as she exits the elevator, because he owes her now.

And she plans to collect.

* * *

><p>She stares hypnotically at her computer monitor. She seems to be hitting dead-end after dead-end regarding the mystery of Jack Buckley's connection to the enigmatic "Danton" and the call-girl service. It's almost 7:00pm. She should call it a night. Besides, she has to meet Alexis shortly.<p>

Sighing deeply as she presses the heels of her hands to her closed eyes, the memory of Castle's adorable grin as she made the call to drop the assault charges against Norman Jessup fills her mind.

Just when she thinks she's got him pegged, he continues to surprise her with his soft heart. This time, forgiving the felonious wordsmith lock-picker.

Sometimes, he can be a jerk…. but sometimes… sometimes he can be so…

Beckett's eyes shoot open as she quickly pushes herself out of her chair, unwilling to allow herself to finish her thoughts. Because she finds them uncomfortable. And frightening.

Shaking the cobwebs from her mind, she decides to head out. Switching off her computer, the detective grabs her coat, picks up her coffee mug, and heads towards the break room to dump the remaining cold, brown liquid only to stop suddenly in her tracks - halted by the sound of Castle's voice, soft and earnest.

"_So, what's a nice girl like you…"_

Beckett turns to glance through the wire mesh, eyes stopping on the sight of the writer sitting on a bench beside a distraught Scarlett Price, his face so tender, his eyes so gentle and warm.

She wants her feet to move, her ears to drown out their conversation, to ignore the twisting in her stomach, but her body is frozen.

Their voices are low whispers - words inaudible. She barely notices the tears streaming down Scarlett's mascara-stained cheeks because it's the look on Castle's face that has her… has her…

...jealous?

No! Not jealous.

She has nothing to be jealous about. Scarlett's a suspect. And moreover, she's a call-girl. Castle would never… He would never…

Beckett snaps herself from her haze, biting the inside of her cheek as she forces herself to continue on her path to the break room. She surprises even herself when she dumps the contents of the mug into the sink with a bit more fervour than necessary.

Dropping the empty mug into the sink, she presses both hands against the edge of the counter, taking a deep breath as she leans her full weight against the white melamine.

She's being ridiculous. Ridiculous.

Shoving her arms through the sleeves of her leather coat, she takes one last side glance over at the two. She can only see Castle's solemn, concerned face as she hears Scarlett's voice.

"_Thanks for listening."_

Her heart thumps wildly in her chest as she watches the blonde get up and leave. Pursing her lips together as she tightens her belt around her waist, Beckett steels herself and marches purposefully - right past him - towards the elevator.

"Night, Castle." She's glad that she manages to keep her voice so stern. Void of emotion.

Because she's not jealous.

She's not.

* * *

><p>Dumping his empty Java Loft coffee cup in the trash bin, Castle passes through the back entrance of the 12th, making his way to the elevator.<p>

His mind wouldn't shut off all night - hounded by thoughts of Alexis, Alexis' possible secret, Alexis' meeting with Beckett, what they might have discussed. Of course, his writer's imagination only made things worse. Which meant a significant lack of sleep.

But surely Beckett will tell him what they talked about.

Tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for the elevator, Castle hastily checks his watch again before pressing the call button for the fifth time. He waits another two seconds before giving up and making his way to the stairs.

He needs answers. Now.

Ascending the few flights, the climb working off some of his built-up anxiety, Castle quickly makes his way into the bullpen - finding only the boys.

"Hey, you guys seen Beckett?"

"She went with the captain to update the City Hall on the case," Esposito replies as Ryan picks up his coffee mug. "She'll be here in a minute."

"Something wrong?" the Irishman asks, stirring his drink.

Of course, he should know better by now, but Castle makes the mistake of informing the boys about Alexis - that she's being secretive. Keeping something from him.

And they play him like a fiddle.

"Maybe she got kicked out of school," Ryan offers.

"What?!"

"Or she's doing drugs," the Latino adds.

"Mmm-hmm," Ryan nods. "Teen pregnancy_ is_ on the rise."

This is not helping!

"Whoa!" the writer interrupts. "Alright, you've met my daughter. You know that she is the closest thing to perfect as humanly possible."

"Castle, come on," Ryan scoffs. "You've been with us long enough to know that people are never who you think they are." Castle's eyes flick back a forth between the detectives as he processes this revelation, swallowing lightly before Ryan continues, "Isn't it possible your perfect daughter isn't as perfect as you think?"

Alexis… imperfect? He hardly has a moment to consider this outrageous possibility before Beckett's voice echoes in his ears.

"Is Danton here yet?"

Huh?

"Yeah, Interrogation Room one," Esposito confirms nonchalantly, as if he and his partner hadn't just spent five minutes yanking on Castle's chain.

"Wait, Danton?" Castle exclaims.

"Come on, Castle," Beckett smirks as she passes behind him, heading towards interrogation. "Keep up."

He's been trying to do just that… with the case. With Beckett. With Alexis. But it seems he's always two steps behind.

Forever trying to keep up.

* * *

><p>"Why won't you tell me?"<p>

She continues to stare straight at the elevator doors, stoic and unflinching, relishing the anguish that this is causing him. "Fine," she huffs as the doors slide open. "She asked about the best way to dispose of a body so that she couldn't get caught."

She shoots him a sly grin as she makes her way down the hall towards Buckley's office.

"Ha. Ha. Funny," he remarks flatly. "No, seriously. What did Alexis tell you last night?

"I promised I wouldn't say."

"Well, at least- at least tell me if it was bad," he begs.

She measures his request carefully - for a split second - before grinning impishly.

"And put you out of your misery?" she scoffs before entering the office.

Yeah… stringing him along is way too much fun.

* * *

><p>Crap.<p>

He should really write a book about how to screw up everything, because he's doing really well this week.

First, Alexis hides stuff from him. Then Beckett won't tell him what his daughter told her. Now he ruins their chances of arresting Knox because he made Beckett promise not to involve Scarlett.

But he's almost home. No chance of messing up anything else tonight.

After picking up some take-out Chinese (at least he didn't manage to screw _that_ up), he meanders down Broome, his building in sight and his footsteps heavy as he racks his brain, trying to conjure ways that he might make everything right.

Unfortunately, he can't even try to talk to Alexis tonight since she and Martha are out at the theatre. But he finds comfort knowing that at least he can wallow in self-pity with some Moo Shu Pork and an expensive merlot.

Yeah. That'll do.

He doesn't really make eye contact with the doorman as he passes through the main entrance, completely lost in thought. He doesn't even remember stepping into the elevator. But the moment he steps on to his floor, everything shifts.

Because Scarlett Price is sitting on the floor, leaning on his front door. How she found him doesn't even cross his mind because she's battered, bruised, bleeding, and terrified.

"Scarlett? You're hurt," he observes gravely as he crouches down to get a better look at her face.

The words that exit her mouth quiver as she stares up at him, shaking. "I didn't know where else to go."

Okay, he was wrong. The night is still young. He still has lots of time to screw things up. But there's no way he can ask her to leave when she obviously has nowhere else to turn ...

"Come inside," he smiles softly, reaching out to take her hand, gently helping her up off the floor. "Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

><p><em>What?<em>

He's a stuttering mess, stumbling over his words as he tries to explain, but Beckett's mind only registered that he saw Scarlett Price. Last night. At his place.

A person of interest.

A call-girl.

At his place. At night. Alone.

Oh god.

"And you didn't think to call me?" she exclaims, frustrated and annoyed.

"Well, I took her to the hospital and the night kind of got away from me…"

_Yeah… sure it did…_ she muses while he continues to stammer about wanting to surprise her. Jackass.

"We're not done talking about this," she states firmly getting up in his face.

Because as much as she wants to believe him, she can't escape the thoughts of how he ogled at Scarlett when she entered Paul Cho's apartment, how he listened so very intently they talked in the precinct… and how she's half naked in the photo with the Reverend.

She can't stop from wondering what else Castle did for her last night… and what Scarlett might have done for him.

But she's only mad because Scarlett's a person of interest.

Really.

* * *

><p>With Knox dead and the case closed, Castle can't help but wonder if Scarlett will be alright. She's faced so many trials and tribulations - the girl just needs a break. Deserves a break. Staring at her photo on the case file, he really hopes she'll find her way.<p>

That is until Norman Jessup asks for a letter of recommendation for locksmith school.

"I cannot watch you 24 hours a day," Beckett retorts, turning down the criminal's request.

"Wait a minute," Castle pauses. "What did you say?"

And then everything suddenly becomes crystal clear. Scarlett and Knox were in business together to overthrow Buckley as the head of the call-girl ring. Knox killed Buckley. Scarlett then played the victim - playing everyone for fools - before killing Knox herself in an act that looked like self-defense.

"And I fell for it," Castle huffs disgusted with himself for being sucked in. For playing the sap.

"We all did," Beckett commiserates.

At least she won't kick him when he's down.

Not this time anyway.

"So what do we do now?" the writer asks, obviously disheartened.

Watching her eyes darting back at forth as her brain whirrs is phenomenally hypnotic. Sexy, even.

"I wonder," she mutters before turning to look at him with a sly smile, "do you still think we can't con a con artist?"

"You have an idea?" he grins.

"I have an idea," Beckett confirms, grabbing her coat as she hurries towards the exit, Castle trailing right behind her. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Staring through the windshield of her cruiser, Beckett just looks at the restaurant across the road, silently piecing together all of the aspects of her plan.<p>

It's a solid plan. If Castle plays his part.

He owes her. Time to pay up.

"So what do you want me to say to her?" he asks as he stares at the restaurant's bay window.

"Just tell her a story," Beckett remarks, pulling her gaze from the restaurant to look at him. "Charm her. Keep her off-guard."

"Off-guard," he mutters as he stares at his cell phone. "Yeah… I can do that."

Taking a last deep breath as they both exit the car, she watches him dial the number he was given and press the phone to his ear.

Beckett stares at the writer as the writer gazes back at her… waiting… waiting…

And then their eyes unlock as Castle speaks into the phone in his most suave, smooth voice. "Yes, I'm looking for a girl."

And that's all she needs. Beckett raises her hand to silently signal the boys as they cross the street, heading towards the bistro.

She's only partially listening to Castle's words as they reach the door, silently indicating that he keep Scarlett on the line, preoccupied.

"But all I can think about is how sad it is," Castle remarks into the speaker. "All that brains and beauty wasted on a heart gone rotten. You're so busy building up walls to keep people out...

Beckett turns to look at him as they pass through the doors, stunned by his choice of words. He saying them to Scarlett, but…

Castle glances at the detective for a brief moment, his eyes dark and serious, before he continues to pace towards the blonde as he finishes his sentence, "...you don't even realize that you're the one trapped inside. All alone."

Beckett swallows, her heart suddenly heavy and her throat dry, but she quickly refocuses her attention on the case as she follows Castle to the table where Scarlett is seated.

While Ryan and Esposito take the blonde into custody, Castle's words continue to echo in Beckett's mind. She can't help but wonder about her own walls. How she's trapped all alone. How she keeps people out. And she begins to wonder if her heart has begun to rot too...

But Castle's husky, sincere voice brings her back. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not saying, 'I told you so'," he sighs.

Her heartbeat begins to quicken, her body feeling lighter. There's something about teasing Castle that just makes her feel alive… and even his daughter sought her advice about traveling abroad (which Castle will be kicking himself about when he finds out he's been freaking out about nothing).

Maybe her walls aren't as impenetrable as she once believed. Maybe she's not as alone as she thought.

And she's not like Scarlett Price because she knows how to play the game better.

Beckett can't suppress the playful grin from forming on her lips. Tease, taunting and temptation. So much fun to be had. "Oh, that starts tomorrow," she smirks as she heads towards the exit, leaving Castle to swallow his pride.

Let the games begin.

* * *

><p><strong>xxx<strong>

**Real life has been very real. Rest assured, I'm still around. **

**And whenever I get a free moment, I'll write the next chapter. Promise.**

**Anyhoo... hope you liked this one.**

**Judge away... :D**


	10. One Man's Treasure

**EPISODE 10 - "ONE MAN'S TREASURE"**

He presses the tips of his fingers together with a delicate amount of pressure as he stares at his two options, the choice a tough one. Black or red. He looks down at the two colours, weighing his decision with great care.

Black is sleek, suave, sophisticated... exudes power. A wonderful combination of elegance and mystery and style. But his gaze is drawn again to the fiery red... dangerous energy, passionate determination. Strength and intensity.

His mind bounces back and forth for several minutes before he finally wiggles his fingers and grins mischievously.

Black. Definitely black.

Putting the red one back on the shelf in his closet, Castle pops a stick of gum in his mouth and bites down a couple of times before he smoothes the headset over his ears, carefully adjusting the microphone before picking up the remote control.

"One Delta Bravo, clear for take-off," he mutters out of the side of his mouth with an exaggerated southern twang as he hits the ignition button, the propellers whirring to life, the miniature machine lifting off the bed. "Six Tango Charlie, we are in the air."

Steering the model helicopter through the door, Castle expertly guides it towards his office window as he spies his mother sitting at the dining room table. A playful smirk forms on his lips as the helicopter exits the apartment and hovers high above the Manhattan street below.

"This is One Delta Bravo," he drawls as he expertly directs the helicopter towards the living room. "Target spotted, tactical manoeuvres engaged. Over."

Passing between the bookshelves, the helicopter appears outside one of the windows. He shoots one more glance at the focused actress and smiles as his thumbs shift, manoeuvring the toy back into the loft.

"Sector six maverick. This is your captain up and on the mount. Listen up, ladies and gentlemen, our fugitive has been on the run for 90 minutes. We're in the pipes. Let's keep our feet dry this time. Jungle Radio."

Martha spies the chopper out of the corner of her eye and silently hopes Alexis comes down to save her. She doesn't have time for this.

"This is One Delta Bravo. Eyes on suspect. Requesting backup. Over."

The diva rolls her eyes at the expense of her son - the 9-year-old trapped in the body of a grown man - but says nothing, hoping ignoring him will make him go away.

"Requesting permission to deploy laser activated radioactive immobilizer."

Apparently not.

"Permission denied," she huffs. "Really, Richard, I have all of these new lines to learn before my play goes into rehearsal."

"I'm going in," he continues, either choosing to ignore her or choosing to annoy her - she figures it's most likely the latter.

Desperately trying to save her script pages from flying away, Martha throws her hands across the papers, evidently frustrated. "If that comes any closer, you're going to have _Black Hawk Down_ on your hands!" she warns sternly before the helicopter drops to the table, Castle grinning with pride.

"What's all this?" Alexis asks, descending the stairs, as Martha rubs the bridge of her nose, silently debating what would be more effective to cure her sudden headache - a Tylenol or a stiff drink.

"Official police tactical training," her father replies, the phony accent thick and ridiculous and completely him.

And when his daughter informs him that she'll be doing her three-day internship at the 12th, Castle beams. "Oh... Well as a member of the NYPD volunteer squad, I would be happy to show you the ropes."

"Actually, Detective Beckett is giving me my orientation course tomorrow morning," Alexis explains, beaming brightly.

"Then I would be honoured to carpool with you... or share a cab."

Martha rolls her eyes lightly and smiles at the interaction. He's definitely a childish goofball, but he's also a wonderful, fun-loving, kind-hearted father. Taking a sip of her wine while the writer answers his cell phone, she wonders how she managed to raise such a good man.

* * *

><p>Re-entering the precinct, Beckett heads for her desk, deep in thought. Sam Parker… shoved down the garbage chute. But he's from Connecticut. So why was he in New York and what did he get himself into that got him shot?<p>

Draping her coat across the back of her chair, she purses her lips together before looking over at Castle who also appears to be lost in thought.

"What're you thinking?"

Snapping back from his reverie, Castle quickly glances over at the detective. "Huh? Oh… nothing."

Saying nothing, Beckett doesn't break eye contact, digging her tongue into her cheek as she tilts her head inquisitively.

"Okay…" he relents with a sigh. "It's just… it's… Alexis."

"What about her?"

"Umm… Can... " he remarks, shooting her an easy smile as he nods his head towards the break room. "Can I make you a coffee?"

Beckett allows a light smile to eke from her lips as she reads the glint in his eye. "Sure," she grins.

She smiles softly as she follows him into the room, sitting down on one of the bar stools as Castle preps the espresso machine. She can't help it. He's nervous… about Alexis… and it's adorable.

"Are you ready?" he asks, focused on the coffee machine. "Here we go."

She watches him intently as the delicious aroma of caffeinated goodness floats through the air. He moves so fluidly as he works, like a well rehearsed dance - and she can't help but wonder how many times he's wanted to do this… make coffee for her while she was watching.

She has to admit, it's amazing to watch. Mesmerizing even. His passion… his focus… his large, steady hands… the rhythm of his movements… his control…

She suddenly feels a little warm, her mouth hungrily falling open of its own accord as she continues to observe from behind… and what a cute behind he ha-

_PLFFFF!_

The exploding milk foam cuts her thoughts short. A few cavalier quips about shooting too soon float through her mind, but she swallows her chuckle and opts instead to roll her eyes as she bites her tongue.

Raising her gaze, she watches him turn to glance at her, then at the pitcher of warmed milk foam in his hand, then at the white spray coating the counter. "Uh… sorry… kinda lost control… didn't expect to spurt like that… made a bit of a mess."

"Don't worry, Castle," she grins as he pours the steamed milk into one of the mugs, "practice makes perfect."

Stalling his movements for a second, Castle opens his mouth to reply before quickly closing it again as he processes her words.

She purses her lips together in amusement as she rises from her seat. God, tormenting him like this is fun.

"What're you so nervous about, anyway?" she asks in all seriousness, quickly bringing him back to reality as she grabs a rag to help him clean the spilled milk while he finishes preparing the drinks and rinses the stainless steel pitcher.

"I know Alexis already talked to you," he explains after handing her a mug. "I just wanted to make sure that you're really okay with having her here."

"I wouldn't have said 'yes' if I wasn't," she remarks nonchalantly, returning to her desk.

"Well, yeah, but you're busy, and I just don't want her to be in the way."

She can't help but smile at that. "Big Castle is the one who likes to get in the way," she remarks playfully. "I'm sure Little Castle will be a pleasure."

Castle. The nervous, overprotective father.

Yeah. So adorable.

* * *

><p>"This may have just become the best case ever!"<p>

Beckett says nothing, eyes locked on the road as she manoeuvers through the traffic, returning to the precinct from the morgue.

"Please tell me we can stop for popcorn?" Castle says gleefully, his eyes twinkling as he looks over at the detective.

"No."

"Oh, come on! Dead guy's wife _and_ fiancée in the same room together! That's gonna be a better show than UFC at the MGM Grand!"

"They're not going to be in the same room, Castle," she rolls her eyes, pulling into a parking spot in front of the 12th. "The uniforms had to practically keep them from tearing at each others' clothes back at the morgue…"

"I know…" the writer muses in a happy daze, following her into the elevator. "Would you think any less of me if-"

"Shut up."

"But-"

"Now."

"Okay."

Leaving the elevator, Beckett heads to her desk. Removing her coat and picking up her clipboard, she looks up at the open shutters of Interrogation Room One. "Oh no…" she mutters.

"What's the matter?"

Pivoting, she quickly looks over at the one of the interview rooms. "Castle… look..." she whispers sharply, briefly grabbing his forearm before taking a deep breath and crossing the bullpen.

"Yeah…" he mutters inquisitively as he follows her, not quite catching on, "that's the victim's fiancée. And?"

"Now look next door…" she grits, eyes wide as she turns her back on the interview room door, "in the conference room."

Castle glances to the left, only to be met with the death stare of the recently widowed Helen Parker. "Oh geez."

"They were supposed to be put in interrogation rooms so they wouldn't be able to see each other," she whispers purposefully. "I don't know how to get the two of them out of here."

"I'm just-" Castle starts before Montgomery interrupts.

"Is that our vic's wife?" the Captain remarks.

"Fiancée," Beckett corrects.

"The wife is over there," the writer explains, pointing to the conference room.

Momentarily stunned, Montgomery asks, "Come again?"

Beckett and Castle tip their heads to the left. "Fiancée…" Beckett whispers, Montgomery's eyes following the movement. "Wife," she repeats as the two tilt their heads to the right.

"Hmmm," Montgomery chuckles as he absorbs the predicament. "Oh boy."

"I know," Castle smiles, wide-eyed. "Isn't it delicious?"

As Castle follows Beckett into the interview room to speak with the fiancée first, he can't help but think how some warm, buttery popcorn would be perfect right about now.

* * *

><p>Following her back to her desk, Castle notes the disturbed look on Beckett's face. Something's not sitting right with her.<p>

"Do you think he would've gone through with it?" she asks.

He's not quite following. "Through with what?"

"Marrying Sarah if he hadn't gotten killed."

Ah. So that's what's on her mind. He should have known.

Considering it for a moment, Castle argues that that diamond ring the fiancée is wearing suggests Sam must have been pretty serious. But juggling two demanding relationships at the same time? No thank you!

"You know what math doesn't add up for me?" he remarks.

"Mmm?"

"Two wives."

"One wife too many for you?" she grins.

Thoughts of Meredith and Gina float around in his subconscious. He almost shudders. "Two wives too many."

"Seems like the common denominator in that equation is... you," she smirks, returning to her desk, leaving the writer standing there in stunned silence, mouth opening and closing without any words escaping his lips.

He takes a moment, trying desperately to come up with a counter-argument. That his failed marriages weren't his fault.

Spinning on his heel, Castle quickly turns to face Beckett, but as his mouth opens, the words he's intending to spew catch in his throat as he stares at the detective's back. There she sits... nose to the grind-stone. Completely focused. Completely devoted. Driven. Steadfast and unwavering.

Married to her job.

Silently watching her, it occurs to him that he's only known that level of commitment in one relationship: the one he has with his daughter.

He'd go to the ends of the earth for his mother, of course, but Alexis is the only person in the world for whom he would do anything… absolutely anything at all.

But staring at the enigma sitting at her desk, reddish-brown hair dusting softly against the back of her smooth neck - shrouded in mystery, layers fathoms deep - he begins to wonder… what if…

"You're staring again." Beckett's stern voice snaps him from his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah…" he stammers. "Sorry."

Raising an eyebrow, she turns her head to glance over her shoulder at him, a curious look on her face, but she says nothing.

"Uhhh… so... g'night," he mutters, heading out of the bullpen, evidently distracted.

As he steps into the elevator, Beckett can't suppress the smirk on her lips as she shakes her head, refocusing on the files on her desk. Sam Parker's face smiles up at her, the photos of the wife and fiancée lying beside it. '_Thank god I'm single_,' she muses to herself.

But as she reaches for her mug of cooling coffee, her eyes wander across her desk to spy the brown chair at the end… and her stomach flips.

* * *

><p>Reaching for the door handle, the writer suddenly halts his movements. Spinning around to face his daughter, his hands splayed wide in front of his chest, he takes a deep breath. "Okay… you remember what I said?"<p>

"Yes, Dad," the redhead assures.

"I just want to make sure," he notes. "It's a busy place… so if you need anything... anything at all-"

"Dad," Alexis marks, "I'll be fine. Promise. Now can we go in? Detective Beckett said she'd give me my orientation at 9:00am and I don't want to be late."

"Right…" Castle breathes. "Of course. Yeah."

Worries squashed by his fifteen year-old's soft smile, he reaches again for the front door, and watches as his little girl saunters past him as she crosses the threshold, entering the 12th Precinct.

The two of them enter the main elevator in silence.

"Dad?" Alexis finally squeaks, the elevator humming as it ascends to homicide.

"Yeah, Pumpkin?"

Her bright blue eyes shine up at him, twinkling brightly like they did the day she was born, just before the doors slide open. "I love you."

Standing in stunned silence for a second, Castle's heart skips a beat as he slowly steps out of the elevator and watches from behind the cage as his daughter confidently crosses through the bullpen, heading directly for Beckett's desk.

The pantomime leaves him speechless… and breathless.

The redhead extends her hand, firmly shaking that of the detective. Reserved smiles and words he can't hear are exchanged before Beckett leads Alexis down the hall. He stealthy follows as the two women pass the interview rooms, heading towards storage.

He holds his breath as they disappear into the property storage room. He momentarily debates going in - curiosity and anxiety building in his core. He takes a step towards the door - but then quickly changes his mind. This is Alexis' moment. _Her _moment. Not his.

Drumming his fingers against his leg, the writer paces for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and leans against the wall.

_She'll be okay… She'll be okay..._

Suddenly, the familiar voices of Beckett and Montgomery fill his ears, and he spins to see them heading down the hall towards him.

"Well?" he asks impatiently.

"Alexis?" Beckett remarks. "She's fine."

"You know, her first day at preschool, I hid outside in the bushes all day just to make sure she was alright."

Montgomery laughs understandingly. "First time my son went to summer camp, I followed the bus all the way to the Adirondacks."

Beckett's eyes narrow as she passes between the two doting fathers. "You two are both either very sweet or very creepy."

But Castle shakes it off. Not even her quips can ruin this moment for him.

Because his little girl is all grown up.

* * *

><p>"So…." Castle begins teasingly as he watches the traffic light change, "where <em>do <em>you keep this magical broom of yours?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she laughs teasingly, accelerating through the intersection.

"You ever use those witchy powers of yours outside of work?" he smoulders, eyebrows twitching.

Beckett holds back a smirk, shooting him a sideways glance. "Why? So you can fall victim _again_?"

"What makes you think I'd fall victim again?" he smiles smugly. "You've already given away your tricks."

Pulling up beside New York Recycle, Beckett parks her cruiser and kills the engine. Turning to face him, one hand on the door handle, she locks eyes with him, staring intently, watching as the cobalt darkens to a heavy midnight blue. The writer's adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes darting back and forth, quickly searching hers, dropping momentarily to her lips.

Her perfect, soft, luscious lips that he'd love to-

"I have so many tricks," she breathes suggestively, her voice deep and gravelly, lips inches from his own, the alluring scent of her shampoo clouding his mind, "that you've never even dreamed of."

Smiling satisfactorily, she promptly exits the car, leaving Castle wide-eyed and frantically biting down on the knuckle of his index finger.

Witchy powers indeed…

She's an enchantress.

And he _so_ wants to learn her tricks!

Every. Single. One.

* * *

><p>Alexis glances over at the computer monitor after bagging and tagging yet another pair of sunglasses.<p>

Update 62% complete.

An update that has been running for almost an hour at this point.

'_When the heck did they last update their software?'_ she wonders to herself, the rhythmic beat of the Blue Pill's greatest hits blaring in her ears.

Lifting the lid off the next box, she sorts through the items. Red Sox ball cap. Lovely black and silver fountain pen. Simple gold chain. Well-read copy of _The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe_. Green Timex wrist watch.

As she continues to work her way towards the bottom of the box, her eyes fall on a small, leather book. _'That's different...'_ she muses, untying the string holding it closed. Her eyes soften as she methodically flips through the pages of photographs, smiling to herself as she stops on an adorable black and white candid of a little girl cradled in the lap of a young man, maybe in his mid-thirties. Her heart flutters at the notion that this is probably a father holding his daughter, but her brief moment of joy suddenly turns to sadness for the family that will never again see these photos.

These memories.

Reaching for an evidence bag, Alexis pauses for a moment. Looking once more at the book in hand, she decides to set it aside. _'Maybe ask Detective Beckett about it later,'_ she thinks, picking up a beaded bracelet from the box.

Time flies by, the miscellaneous items quickly getting sorted, the evidence boxes disappearing, as she gets herself into a pretty efficient rhythm.

Until she runs across a set of false teeth.

"Ew," she mutters aloud before dropping them in a bag. _Gross._

She glances up briefly when she hears her father's voice from the doorway. "I don't know where you got this work ethic, but it certainly was not from me."

Alexis suppresses the desire to say "I know" as Castle and Beckett approach her work space.

"How's it going?" the detective asks, gazing around the room, taking note of what a great job Alexis is doing.

"Pretty good," the teen replies, pulling her headphone from her ear. "The computer was a little glitchy at first, but that's because no one had run a software update in, like, two years. Plus it picked up some viruses I had to zap."

She can't help but blush a bit as Beckett praises her efforts, Castle beaming. "I told you she was a smarty."

Then she remembers the photo album, passing it to Beckett.

"Oh! It's a brag book," Castle notes, glancing over Beckett's shoulders at the photographs. "So you can brag about your kids. I used to have one in my wallet. Now, it's on my phone."

"Some of the pictures are really old. Like, they're one of a kind," the redhead remarks, wondering how she might be able to find the owner. She's evidently disheartened when Beckett reminds her that without a case number, it's extremely challenging to figure out who the victim was, let alone track down their relatives.

"I'll tell you what," Beckett considers. "I'll give you a list of all the detectives who possibly worked this case. Show them the pictures, maybe it'll strike up a memory."

The teen grasps the returned album with a smile, a sense of hope flooding through her. As her father and the detective leave her to her work, Alexis flips through the photos once again, her heart swelling.

It's quite the mystery.

And she's gonna solve it.

* * *

><p>"You really think she'll be able to do it?"<p>

"Huh?" Beckett shoots a quick glance at the passenger seat, a confused look in her eyes.

"Alexis," the writer clarifies. "You think she'll be able to return the photos to the victim's family?"

_Ah_. She wondered why he'd been so quiet. They'd been on the road for about an hour and a half - on their way to the Parker's Connecticut home - but after discussing the case for the first hour, he'd fallen silent. Pensive.

She'd welcomed the silence at first, but then got a bit concerned. It wasn't like him. Should've figured thoughts of his daughter were occupying his mind.

"Well…" she exhales thoughtfully, turning off the highway, "it's not _impossible_… but it'll probably be quite difficult."

"Okay," he grins softly, a hint of relief lacing his voice.

"Okay?" Not quite the response she was expecting.

"Yeah," he smiles with a light sigh. Beckett shoots him an inquisitive glance, eyes prodding him to elaborate. "Alexis gets, well… invested... in things," he explains. "She gives 100% of herself to something, but in doing that, she expects success."

"Understandable," Beckett nods, turning onto a residential street.

"But if all of her efforts come to nought," he adds, "well… let's just say failure is not an option for her. So if there is no chance of her succeeding in her endeavour to hunt down the family, I'd want her to know sooner than later."

Beckett ponders his comment for a moment in silence. She doesn't quite know what to say.

As she pulls up in front of the two-storey, suburban house, noting the silver hybrid in the driveway, she refocuses their discussion on the case, silently hoping - for Castle's sake - that Alexis is as tenacious and as resourceful as he believes her to be.

* * *

><p>"Is it true?"<p>

Beckett and Castle halt their steps, pivoting on the New York Recycle staircase to see a distraught Sarah Reed looking down at them, desperately demanding confirmation that her relationship - her engagement - to the victim was nothing but an act. That everything was a lie.

"No, that- that doesn't mean he didn't care about you," Castle adds quickly in attempt to lessen the blow.

"That's exactly what it means," the fiancée huffs, tears welling in her eyes. "He never loved me. He was just using me the whole time."

Castle looks at the detective, lips pursed together, as Beckett watches Sarah Reed march away before any more can be said.

"Wow," the writer utters, eyes wide, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Beckett sighs, releasing a heavy exhale before continuing her descent of the stairs.

Nothing more is said for a few minutes until they reach her cruiser. Opening the driver's side door, Beckett pauses to lean against the roof of the Crown Vic. "You know," she begins, catching Castle's attention before he opens the passenger side door, "it's odd."

"What is?"

"It's like she's still hanging on... not willing to see Sam for who he really was."

"That is so quixotic," he whispers with a low whistle, climbing into the car.

"Quixotic, huh?" she smirks, sitting down behind the wheel, simultaneously pulling on her seatbelt.

Castle glances at her smugly, a cocky grin teasing his lips. "It means to have exceedingly foolish and unrealistic expectatio-"

"Yes, Castle," Beckett interrupts, her voice flat as she turns the key in the ignition. "I've read Cervantes. I know what the word means."

Castle does a quick double-take, a playful grin teasing his lips as the car travels smoothly with the flowing traffic.

"You know, we should really play Scrabble sometime," he smiles.

"Never gonna happen," she retorts dryly.

"You afraid?" he challenges with a taunting grin.

"Yeah," she mocks with a laugh. "Afraid of seeing you cry when you lose."

"Me? Lose?" he remarks with a jest, holding his palm to his chest. "Ha!"

Pulling up in front of the Precinct, she presses her foot down on the brake pedal with slightly more force than necessary, bringing her cruiser to a complete stop and shutting off the engine before turning to face him, meeting his smug stare for a second, eyes narrowing. "Consider yourself warned..."

* * *

><p>Castle's eyes bounce back and forth as if he is watching a riveting tennis match. Sam Parker's wife growling at Sarah Reed - insisting the victim's name is Sam - as the trespassing fiancée rattles on about Jake's ulcer, voices becoming more high-pitched and volume escalating by the second.<p>

Until Beckett intervenes.

The women exchange deathly stares before Helen Parker spins on her heel, returning to her house, Beckett waiting in silence until Sarah Reed releases a heavy breath and escapes to her car, slamming her door and racing away from the scene, her tires squealing on the pavement.

Beckett simply watches the car drive away as the writer rounds the patio table and comes to stand beside her.

She's grateful for his silence as she rubs her eyes, trying to alleviate the slight headache pounding behind her temple, hoping it'll just fade away.

"I can't believe we didn't stop for popcorn," he mutters.

Her eyelids remain closed as an open palm slides up over her forehead. She releases a heavy, heated sigh through her nose.

She might need a Tylenol after all.

* * *

><p>Hearing the elevator doors open, Beckett glances across the bullpen to see Castle and Alexis enter the Precinct. She smiles at the sight Castle's arm wrapped lovingly around his daughter's shoulders.<p>

Turning her attention back to the murder board, she feels a happy flutter in her stomach as she overhears the exchange between father and daughter.

"_Love you."_

"_See you."_

She's been witness to Castle's fatherly persona several times, but it never ceases to make her smile. He can be such an immature jackass sometimes, but seeing him as a father-

"Please tell me you did not sleep in the break room again."

The deep treble of his voice refocuses her wandering thoughts.

"I went home," she insists, though she neglects to mention it was only for a few hours. "I just couldn't stop thinking about that catfight last night."

"Ooh," Castle purrs. "Would you think less of me if I said, 'Me too'?"

And there's the immature jackass.

It's gonna be one of _those_ days.

* * *

><p>While the boys and Beckett busy themselves with phone calls in an attempt to explain Sam's odd trips out to Long Island, Paramus and Port Newark, Castle opts to take a moment to check on Alexis.<p>

He grins lovingly at the espresso machine as it froths the warming milk. A mug of hot chocolate is just what the writer ordered for a well deserved break.

Picking up the two hot drinks, he makes his way to the property storage room, only to find the door open and the room missing one fifteen-year-old redhead.

Wandering back towards the bullpen, he smiles as he catches sight of her - file folder in hand, deep in conversation with another detective. He can't help but smile, observing her silently through the wire mesh, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. She looks so mature…

She's turning into a young woman right in front of his eyes. And it's a beautiful sight indeed.

He waits silently in the shadows until she finishes her discussion before stepping in, holding out one of the mugs. "State law requires a ten minute break every five hours."

Her bright blue eyes beam back at him. She might be growing up, but in that brief moment, it's written all over her face. "Thanks, Dad. I needed this."

She'll always be his little girl.

* * *

><p>Leaning against the back wall of the interrogation room, Castle listens to Laura Branston come clean about pretending to be Sarah Reed.<p>

Two people involved in a phony relationship wrapped in lies and deception and false identities, both engaged in corporate espionage, trying to foil each other. Talk about spy versus spy. He couldn't have written a more twisted plot if he tried.

"I was just doing my job," the phony fiancée shrugs nonchalantly in reply to Beckett's theory. "Leading a man on isn't a crime, is it, Detective?"

"Should be," he mutters, eyes glaring at the suspect before they shift momentarily over to the detective.

But Beckett doesn't even blink, her eyes locked on the woman across the table. Castle can't help but watch in awe as she continues to remain focused on the task at hand, digging deeper, pulling minute confession after minute confession from Laura Branston until a picture emerges about how the corporate spy played Sam Parker.

"Men think they're smart," the woman remarks. "The trick is to keep letting them think it."

'_Oh really?...' _Castle thinks to himself as he listens to the woman boast. He wants to jumps in to burst her bubble right then and there, his eyes begging Beckett to let him school her, but reading the look on the detective's face, he bites his tongue. Hard.

"Um... So, what was on the computer?" Beckett asks, redirecting the conversation, evidently trying not to laugh at Castle's expense.

Castle takes another deep breath. Biding his time. Leading Laura into a false sense of arrogance before pulling the rug out from under her.

"He thought he was playing me," she notes.

"He was," Beckett remarks, pulling Sam's autopsy report from her file folder. An autopsy report that showed Sam didn't have an ulcer.

Laura squirms uncomfortably in her chair as she processes what she's being told. Continuing to insist she was smarter than Sam.

And Castle is loving every second of it.

"Oh, I hate to burst this little _Alias_ bubble you've got going on," he digs, watching Laura's face fall flat, eyes widening as she stares at the report in Beckett's hand, "but Sam found your house in Long Island. He knew you were more than just a flirty engineer."

Rug pulling never felt so good.

* * *

><p>Standing beside Beckett, Castle watches Lance Carlberg - CEO of New York Recycle - being led to Holding in cuffs, but he can't help but wish that Laura Branston could keep him company - maybe even for just a day or two.<p>

She might not have killed Sam, but she made Sam's wife believe he was cheating - she brought upon a tragically widowed Helen Parker more, unnecessary pain. And she's got crazy eyes. And that's good enough for him.

But sadly, the law doesn't work like that.

And Laura Branston will go unpunished.

He just wishes he could do something… something to fix some of the damage done to Sam's family. Tell Helen Parker that her husband died fighting for a cause he believed in. That her husband was faithful until the end.

Beckett glances over at the writer, pausing for a moment, reading the pain on his face - knowing his thoughts are the same as her own - before finding her words. "So… I was thinking about driving up to Connecticut to-"

"Shot gun," he states, eyes not even shifting from their locked gaze at the far hallway.

A grin teases the edge of Beckett's lips as she picks up her car keys and grabs her coat off the back of her chair.

"Come on, Castle," she smiles softly, pulling his attention, leading the two of them towards the elevator. "We'll pick up some popcorn on the way."

* * *

><p>A new day dawns, and Castle brings news that New York Recycle is being shut down. Vindication is sweet.<p>

But their celebration is interrupted by a phone call - one Anna Noles.

"I don't know any Anna Noles," Beckett remarks into the receiver.

"I do." Both Castle and Beckett glance upwards at the sound of Alexis' voice.

"Uh, yeah," Beckett smiles, eyes locked on the teen. "Send her up."

"So, who's Anna Noles?" Castle inquires.

"The pictures I found belonged to her mother."

Castle beams with pride as Alexis explains how she expanded her search to retired police officers, eventually tracking down the victim's daughter.

"Nice work," Beckett praises in earnest. "I'm very impressed you were able to close this case.

"Thank you," Alexis smiles, evidently humbled by the compliment. "I mean, I know it's not like the important stuff you do. But I…"

"You know, when a person loses someone," Beckett says, "this is important."

And with that, Castle's breath catches in his throat as his eyes read over the volumes of the detective's face. Alexis told him earlier that if those pictures had been his, and she'd lost him, she'd want to have them back. And he hadn't really let that sink further than the two of them.

But Beckett...

He hadn't even thought about her perspective.

She knows what it's like… but somehow, she doesn't make this moment about her. And in doing so, teaches his daughter a life lesson that he never could.

And that means the world to him.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**It was a crappy rainy day. First time in months that I've had time to write. **

**Hope you enjoyed it.**

**As always, typos belong to me.**

**Judge away. :)**


	11. The Fifth Bullet

_**Question:**_** How do spoiler-free people remain spoiler-free when they **_**know**_** spoilers are circulating like wild fire?**

_**Answer:**_** After PCA voting for an extended period of time, they spend several hours distracting themselves by writing fanfic.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>Episode 11 - "The Fifth Bullet"<strong>

'_Wow… so gorgeous,"_ he thinks to himself from afar as his eyes lock with hers - so big and brown and enticing, the flare from the street lights setting them aglow.

She's all alone, quietly standing on the sidewalk. Waiting. Just waiting. His pace slows as he approaches her - their steady gaze never breaking.

His hand tentatively reaches forward - as if drawn magnetically to her - his fingers daring to feel her... daring to comb through the short, silky brown strands on her head.

The reflection of the street lights dance in her eyes as she continues to look at him, not making a sound, willing him to touch her. To run his hands all over her body. He can't help but smile as her mouth opens slightly when his open palms caress her neck, her head canting to the side as the tips of his fingers smooth along the edge of her ear - her relaxation evident. She wants this.

She wants more.

Without warning, she lunges at him - her mouth attacking his, her tongue warm and wet against his lips as his huge hands wrap themselves around the back of her head, steadying her passionate onslaught, caressing her with a fervour of affection as she plants wet kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, his chin, his jaw, his neck…

"Who's a good girl?" he utters in a playful tone, dropping one knee to the concrete below as he scratches behind her ear, her tail wagging excitedly.

The dog flops down comfortably on her side as his finger nails scratch under her chin. "Who's a good girl?" he repeats, his voice hitting a slightly higher pitch than usual.

"On one knee?"

He grins to himself at the sound of Beckett's voice, but he can't bring himself to tear his attentions away from the canine he just befriended. "That's a good girl," he assures the dog, no longer paying much heed to his surroundings.

"What's up Castle?" Beckett teases, the distinctive slam of her car door snapping his attention. "You proposing?"

"Oh..." the writer stammers innocently, petting the dog on the top of her head one last time as he rises from the ground, "no. Just waiting for you."

"That's too bad," she grins playfully as she approaches. "You two make a cute couple."

He really wants to asks if she's jealous, but he bites his tongue and lets it go. After all, she did just watch him get french kissed by a canine. Maybe it's best to let sleeping dog lie.

Just this once.

* * *

><p>A missing bullet… how cool is that?!<p>

The moment they left the crime scene, his mind began to race - the possible explanations flooding his brain.

And after receiving a disapproving and deadly stare from Beckett after his first suggestion - it was lodged in the shoulder of the invisible man who was an unfortunate bystander - he couldn't resist poking her even more… because driving her nuts with his crazy theories is just way too fun!

"Come on… the bullet being swallowed by a sudden ripple in the space-time continuum is a perfect theory," he insists excitedly, chasing her out of the elevator as she crosses quickly over to her desk, trying desperately to get away from him.

"Castle-" she warns.

"Okay then…" he interrupts as her desk phone begins to ring, "what about aliens?"

"Aliens," she sighs, picking up the handset. "Beckett," she answers, trying to ignore the fact that he's still talking.

"On a secret mission to study the human culture, they teleported into the art gallery…"

"Sure," she says dryly into the speaker, releasing a long exhale and rolling her eyes.

"But Fink has just been killed as they arrive," Castle continues, half talking to himself, "and the murderer takes a desperate and defensive shot at one of the aliens just as they teleport back to the mothership - the bullet vanishing with them."

Beckett's head whips sharply in his direction, eyes glaring narrowly as she listens intently to the officer in the lobby who phoned her. Amused - yet also a bit terrified - Castle fights back a smirk as he draws his finger across the line of his mouth to mime that his lips are sealed.

It's late and she's obviously tired. Maybe this would be a good time to make her a coffee. As a peace offering. And she might be in need of a pick-me-up since her mug is just sitting there... empty.

Leaning forward to rise from his chair, he suddenly has an epiphany.

"The bullet was made of ice," he suggests firmly as he quickly snaps back into the chair.

"Okay. Great," Beckett replies to the officer's voice in her ear. "Yeah, send her up," she says, hanging up the receiver, not giving his theory a second thought. "Vic's wife is on her way up."

"Fires the bullet, it melts before we can find it."

Good lord, she needs coffee. _NOW! _ Grabbing her empty mug from her desk, she bolts for the break room, her shadow chasing behind her.

"An ice bullet! Hello? An ice bullet? Are you even paying attention to me?"

_Does he ever shut up,_ she wonders as she shoots him down. "No! You aren't saying anything worth paying attention to."

Unfortunately, her much-needed java fix is derailed as the boys head her off, bringing her bad news. No blood trail outside the art gallery. No sign of the missing bullet.

"I'm telling you," Castle sing-songs in her ear as he passes behind her, "ice bullet."

"Nah, Bro," Esposito contests. "An ice bullet would still make a bullet hole."

"You mean, ice hole," Ryan adds.

"What'd you just call me?" Castle remarks.

"Guys," she interrupts with a shake of her head.

Yeah. There isn't enough caffeine in the world that can give her sufficient relief from these three stooges.

* * *

><p>Ryan ponders his next move for a brief second, shoving a hand in the pocket of his perfectly pressed dress pants, chewing on this thoughts before finally accepting the slip of note paper being handed to him.<p>

"Thanks Marino," he nods to the uniformed officer, reading the point-form canvass notes.

The two law enforcers part ways as the detective heads towards the elevator, approaching the mystery man. The man smiles sheepishly at Ryan, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders slightly before he utters, "so…"

"So..." Ryan echoes before finding himself at a loss for words. "Uhh, do… do you…"

Unsure of exactly how to address the amnesiac before him, he takes a deep breath as he glances across the bullpen at his partner who's looking back at him, an inquisitive and insistent look adorning the Latino's features.

Man. Javi's gonna love taunting him about this one.

"You _really_ don't know who you are?" the detective asks, returning his attention to the young man.

The man says nothing - just shakes his head sadly.

"And you don't remember anything?"

"Sorry," the man replies politely, pursing his lips together, eyes pleading for Ryan to help him.

"Okay," Ryan states, releasing an elongated exhale, "come with me. We'll figure this out."

Ryan leads the man down the hall, cutting through the bullpen as he directs the man into one of the conference rooms.

"Yo."

"Gimme a sec," Ryan tells the man, who nods understandably, before taking a single step out of the doorway to be met by his partner.

"What's up, Bro?" Esposito inquires as he nods his head subtly in the direction of the mystery man in the room.

"Not sure," Ryan replies, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Says he was mugged."

"Not sure?" Espo scrutinizes.

"He doesn't remember."

Espo glances over at the man who is innocently looking out the window. "Doesn't remember what the mugger looked like?"

"Anything."

"Say what?" Espo stammers, doing a double-take as his eyes shoot back to meet Ryan's.

"Doesn't seem to remember _anything_," Ryan reiterates, turning his head to glance at the man over his shoulder, "including who he is."

"Well..." Espo scoffs, clearly amused, as he slaps a heavy palm on his partner's shoulder, taking a pregnant pause to milk this moment before adding, "good luck, Bro."

Ryan heaves a heavy sigh and nods before spinning around and re-entering the Conference room.

"Ice bullets and amnesia," Espo grins, biting back a chuckle as he pivots on his heel and struts back to his desk. Special Forces was never this entertaining.

* * *

><p>Ice bullets are quickly forgotten as Castle amuses himself with a new toy. The amnesiac.<p>

The clues are laid out before him, one by one - an inhaler, a grocery bag, keys - all pieces of a puzzle that will help solve the mystery. Make the story make sense.

The writer gushes like a proud teacher when _Crime and Punishment _ is pulled from the hidden breast pocket inside the man's coat.

"Dostoyevsky," Castle nods approvingly as the man hands him the thick novel. "Classic. You have excellent taste."

Ryan's eyes widen as he glances at the book. "Castle."

Castle hands it over, watching as Ryan turns it over, revealing a bullet hole. "Nine millimeter. I think we just found our fifth bullet."

Opening the book, the missing bullet is discovered, lodged tightly amongst the pages.

"Damn," Castle mutters, an evident air of disappointment on his breath.

"Huh?" the detective utters, looking up from the book.

"I was so sure it was an ice bullet," Castle sighs. "Now I owe L.T. twenty bucks."

Ryan's mouth falls open, but no words escape before he shakes his head and refocuses. "Hey Beckett!" he calls as he steps out of the room, crossing over to her desk.

"Got something?" she asks, looking up from the papers scattered across the surface of her work space.

"Yeah," he remarks, passing her the open novel, the bullet displayed proudly in the center of the pages. "Found our missing bullet."

"_Prestupleniye i nakazaniye," _she mutters thoughtfully after flipping the book closed to look at the cover.

"That is so hot…"

Ryan's head spins around to look behind him as Beckett looks up - both of them glaring at the writer who's practically drooling.

Her eyes narrow instinctively. "I said the book's title, Castle," she points out, her voice flat and unimpressed as she rises from her chair. "That's all."

A wide-eyed Ryan chuckles at the writer's expense while escaping to the Conference Room.

Taking a step to follow, Beckett swivels suddenly, gliding towards Castle, entering his personal space - her delicious perfume assaulting his senses and making his head spin. "But maybe next time," she breathes, her lowered voice deep and husky and taunting, "I'll read you some of the _dic_...tionary."

Knees weakening and heart pounding, the novelist bites down on his knuckle as the detective grins seductively, teeth digging into her lower lip as she raises an eyebrow suggestively and saunters away - leaving the writer to try to remember how to breathe.

"You ever want to read me a bedtime story," he chokes on a faint breath, his words stumbling from his dry throat when he finally regains his ability to speak, "promise me you'll do it in Russian."

* * *

><p>Going unnoticed, the writer manages to creep up to the Homicide floor by sneaking up the back staircase.<p>

'_Good,'_ he thinks to himself as he spies Esposito conferencing with Beckett at her desk - the two of them apparently deep in thought, their attention evidently focused on the young amnesiac currently held up in the Conference room.

Silently slinking down the side hall, he slips into the break room via the back door.

She threw him off his game yesterday, but he'll show her he can keep it together. Shake it off. Get off the bench and back in the field.

Careful to make as little noise as possible, Castle preps the espresso machine, wiggling his fingers as he works his magic. New filter, check. Fresh grounds, check. Cold water, check.

As the machine begins to steam and gurgle, he slyly peaks a look through the window, noting that Ryan has now joined the conference.

Turning his attention back to the espresso machine, he carefully selects two clean mugs from the cupboard. Filling his mug and then hers, he wiggles his eyebrows giddily as he lifts the mugs to his nose. _'Perfect.'_

Crossing into the bullpen, he heads for her desk. His eyes fall shut for a brief second as he becomes hypnotized by the heavenly aroma of the caffeinated Italian ambrosia permeating the air. _'Beckett's gonna love th-"_

His eyes flash open as a body - _her _body - crashes into him. He can do nothing but gape at the sight before him - her crisp, white blouse stained brown, her neck and chest soaked with dark, scalding liquid.

He's dreamed of so many variations of Beckett and a wet t-shirt contest… but he's never imagined this scenario. And as much as he'd like to put a sexy spin on this, he's got nothing.

Finding his voice beyond the embarrassment, he manages to utter, "I brought you coffee."

"Thank you, Castle," is all she breathes before stepping around him and heading towards the locker rooms, leaving Castle immobile, and still rather shocked.

Game.

Thrown.

Again.

* * *

><p>As Ryan and Esposito head out, Beckett returns to her desk. Flipping open the cover of a brown file folder, she purses her lips in an attempt to hide a smile as a steaming mug of fresh coffee is placed carefully on her desk directly in front of her.<p>

"I just, uh…" Castle stutters as she looks up across her desk, her expression schooled. "Uh... thought you'd like..." Castle utters sheepishly, words cracking as they tumble from his lips, "...umm..."

She says nothing, masterfully forcing a confession from him without words.

"I..." he waivers, face cringing, his discomfort extremely evident. "I'm so sorry about that... earlier..."

Damn she's good.

Narrowing her eyes, she lays on the guilt without a word for a few moments before allowing a shy, playful grin to cross her lips as she reaches for the mug. "I'm gonna smell like coffee for the rest of the day," she deadpans, turning her attention to the warm, ceramic mug that's teasing her lips.

"Wonder if you taste like coffee too…" he muses salaciously as Beckett gulps, practically choking as she fights to swallow a long sip, the air around them as hot as the dark liquid now burning the inside of her throat.

He tries to suppress a victorious smile as she wipes the back of her hand against her lips, covering her weak cough.

He's back in the game.

"So," he states, nonchalantly refocusing on the case, "where'd Ryan and Esposito go?"

"Pick up J at St. Vincent's," Beckett explains, finding her voice again after clearing her throat. "They're gonna take him to Fink's Art Gallery. See if being there jogs his memory."

Castle heaves a heavy sigh as he looks down at his own coffee mug, held tightly within his palms, as he considers the plight of the mystery man they know simply as J. The man who, in the blink of an eye, seems to have lost his identity - his entire life - to the dark, shadowy abyss beyond his memory.

"Man... forgetting everything like that, having your mind block out something so significant… so life-altering," he breathes before looking up, his eyes solemn and serious as they meet hers. "Can you imagine what that must be like?"

"No," she exhales with a slight shake of the head, looking back at the open file after a brief moment of intense silence, "but, in a way, he might be better off."

Castle furrows his brow. "How?" How could forgetting a part of your life be a good thing? Ever!

Turning her head, Beckett's brown eyes lock with his blue - her gaze conveying so much more than the six words that follow. "Sometimes, some things are better forgotten."

* * *

><p>Castle hovers just outside the interview room as Ryan and Beckett prepare the industrial pleather couch for J to sleep on, Beckett's words echoing relentlessly in his mind. That some things are better forgotten.<p>

Maybe she has a point.

After all, she's suffered so much personal pain - her mother's murder, dealing with an alcoholic father. Perhaps there is some validity to wiping part of your memory.

Pretending it didn't happen.

'_But we are a product of our experiences,'_ he muses to himself. He's definitely not proud of certain things he's done in his life, but if these things hadn't happened, he wouldn't be who he is today. Meredith is… well, she _is_… but without her, he wouldn't have Alexis. If he hadn't cheated his essay about the Jordan motor company, he might not have that inner drive now that keeps pushing him to want to improve as a writer.

If he hadn't been in Hollander's Woods…

He winces at the memory, but as much as that moment pains him to recollect, he's certain he wouldn't want it erased. It hurts like hell, but it made him who he is. It defined his identity.

And without the words - words that he escaped into - he would never have met Beckett.

_Beckett…_

He leans against the doorframe, eyes washing over the detective - her straight, brown hair wisping ever-so-gently along her swan-like neck, bangs swooping across her smooth forehead, her svelte frame hiding immense strength. Muscular strength as well as strength of character.

Strength of heart.

"But what if no one does and I don't remember?" he hears J mutter, the young man's worried voice breaking him from his reverie. "Then who am I?"

Castle inhales as he looks at the amnesiac and then back at Beckett, the question hanging out there like an over-filled water balloon, waiting to explode.

"I promise you," the detective assures, "we won't give up on you."

The young man purses his lips together and nods once, though Castle can tell J is uncertain. That he believes Beckett's statement is an empty promise, a platitude.

But Castle knows better.

And when Beckett spins around to exit the room and her eyes lock momentarily with his, he's more certain than ever that there is nothing… _nothing_… that could possibly make him want to forget an aspect of his life if it meant that she wouldn't be a part of it.

"_Some things are better forgotten."_ No. He can't accept that.

Nothing could_ ever_ be so terrible and painful that he would want it completely wiped from his brain.

Nothing.

* * *

><p>"I still don't see how a grocery bag is going to help us identify J," Beckett remarks as she exits her cruiser, having been lucky enough to find an empty parking space along West 26th.<p>

"You'll see," Castle replies, shooting a playful smile back over his shoulder as he hustles up the sidewalk, Beckett catching up to him.

"Castle-" she warns.

"C'mon," he grins, "where's your sense of fun?"

"Castle," she states dryly, falling into step beside him, "after dealing with the crazy cat lady who wanted to fake-marry an amnesiac and an attaché who threw diplomatic immunity in my face, I'm not in the mood."

"Just trust me," he placates. "I'm about to solve the mystery of who J is."

"_Really_," she remarks sarcastically under her breath with a roll of the eyes.

They continue their walk up the sidewalk, Castle not giving her any clues as to his hunch. And to make matters worse, her shoulder just got bumped for the fourth time by passer-bys. Patience is a virtue. Unfortunately, she's running short on supply this morning chasing another inane Castle theory. So she pokes again. "Why are you dragging me back to the art gallery?

"Not to the art gallery. To the street." He looks over at a bike rack before adding, "Ah! It's gone."

She's still not sure what he's looking for. A bicycle? "What's gone?"

"The dog," Castle explains. "That's why he had the bag. To clean up after his dog."

"How do you know it was his dog?"

"Well, why else would he have a bag?" he justifies. "Why else would there be a dog tied up outside a commercial building after midnight? Maybe someone stole it."

Pulling out her cell, Beckett quickly dials the Precinct switchboard. "Get me Animal Control."

Okay.

Maybe his theory isn't quite as inane as she thought.

* * *

><p>Sitting across from everyone at the far side of the table, Castle can't help but feel heartbroken. Jeremy Preswick. In the prime of his life. A life for which he doesn't even have the slightest recollection.<p>

The writer had joked about Jeremy being lucky in the fact that he can't remember his ex-wife - but now, sitting across from the young man and said ex-wife, he wishes he hadn't. Because, from what he can see, the 34-year-old lost so much more than just his memory.

He lost a smart, loving, kind-hearted woman in Emma Carnes - and he lost her long before he lost his memory.

An extremely intelligent man with a thriving business… and yet, he treated people as if they were worthless. At least… he treated _Emma_ as if _she_ was worthless.

The word "jerk" escapes Emma's lips and melds itself between Castle's ears.

Jeremy Preswick. A rich, successful badboy who threw love away. Castle's stomach churns at the thought - the notion hitting a bit too close to home.

"The truth is we probably got married too young." Castle nods slightly, empathizing with Emma's statement. Getting married young, for the wrong reasons… he knows the pain of that all too well. Meredith had been a mistake - he never really loved her - but it was the rebound after she cheated on him that defined him for so long. Maybe too long.

"As far as I know, he was dating the youngest, hottest women he could find, and not bothering to put the toilet seat down," Emma remarks.

And even though Jeremy sheepishly laughs it off, Castle can't help but think of his own life - how his thirties were defined by how many times he could get himself on page 6 of _The Ledger_, how many different women he could sleep with, how many breasts he could autograph…

Hearing the scorn in Emma's voice, he suddenly finds himself wondering if Beckett had the same impression of him.

_Has_ the same impression.

He always liked to believe that she was putting on airs whenever she said she hated him and he was annoying her… but what if it was true? What if she _did_ actually hate everything about him? What if he was becoming such a nuisance that she might no longer agree to have him hang around? What if-

"You coming Castle?"

Shifting his head, he meets her gaze with a slightly lost look. "Sorry?"

"Jeremy's apartment," she repeats impatiently. "_Are you coming?_"

"Oh," he huffs, snapping from his pensive state and quickly rising from his chair. "Yeah."

She spins on her heel and heads for the elevator, not waiting for Castle as he hastily chases after her. He doesn't have to see her face to _know_ she's rolling her eyes, unimpressed and irritated.

He silently enters the elevator, burying himself behind Beckett as she briefly explains to Emma and Jeremy what she'd like to do when they get to the amnesiac's apartment.

Castle wishes he could add something of value to the conversation. Something intelligent. Something perceptive. But he finds himself unable to speak for fear that whatever comes out of his mouth will be unworthy. That Beckett will look at him with the same sense of dismay that Emma bestowed upon Jeremy.

And for the first time, the bad boy routine that the writer fell into and relished for so long kind of disgusts him.

* * *

><p>"Okay, am I missing something?" Lanie wonders, slightly bewildered at this unusual reaction from the detective. "I thought you're supposed to be happy after you caught the killer."<p>

Castle looks across at Beckett's solemn face, her heart evidently sinking as much as his own. Gun residue on Jeremy's coat. The 9mm found in Jeremy's apartment. Abrasions on the victim's body consistent with a struggle.

All the evidence points to Jeremy. And it just feels so wrong.

Returning to the precinct, the car ride is quiet - the hum of the Crown Vic's motor and the cacophony of the surrounding traffic the only sounds. But they hardly hear any of it. Castle can't bring himself to say a word, and Beckett doesn't break the silence. The news they have to break to the amnesiac is not what they had hoped for.

Shoulder to shoulder, the detective and writer exit the elevator and traipse soberly down the hall towards Holding. Making eye-contact with the uniformed officer guarding the cell, Beckett nods once before taking a deep breath as the outer gate is unlocked.

Sitting on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together as he stares at the barren, concrete floor, the six-foot man in the cage looks so small, so frail, as they approach. Looking up from his closed, defeated position, Jeremy looks up at Beckett, his eyes despondent and sombre.

Releasing a deep and heavy sigh, he looks back at the floor, his body sinking even further into itself.

Unable to find words, the writer simply shakes his head and sits down on the visitor bench - his body mirroring Jeremy's - as Beckett leans a shoulder against the cage.

The three say nothing for what seems like an eternity before Jeremy slowly rises to his feet. Beckett remains silent as the young man takes a few laboured steps, pacing sluggishly before turning to look at her.

Beckett opens her mouth to speak, but she dries, the words she doesn't want to utter dying on her tongue.

Giving her a sheepish, forgiving smile, Jeremy breaks the silence. "Why'd I do it?"

"We don't know why…" Beckett replies after a moment.

It's heart breaking seeing Jeremy behind bars. He was so lost. So kind and innocent and cooperative. This just doesn't seem right.

Returning to her desk after the brief conversation, Beckett reflects silently, elbows propped on the top of her desk, closed mouth pressed against her intertwined fingers. Her eyes glaze over as they stare at the row of elephants, the light from her desk lamp casting intricate shadows across their white faces.

The bullpen is dark and quiet, most people having gone home for the night - only a few uniforms wandering the halls, the emergency lights providing dim illumination.

Her eyes come into focus as a white NYPD coffee mug is placed on the desk in front of her, the large hand that was holding it placing it carefully without a sound.

Staring at the dark liquid for a moment, she slowly reaches for the ceramic mug, wrapping her hands around it as Castle sits down in his brown chair. "Decaf," is all he utters, trying to force a smile that doesn't want to come.

"Thank you," she whispers in return, cradling the mug, but not yet lifting it to her lips.

There is a long, drawn out silence, the two of them not even glancing at each other - both of their gazes locked on their respective cups of coffee - before Castle finally speaks, his voice soft and low. "I was thinking…"

Beckett gently turns her head to focus on the author, his eyes still locked on the mug wrapped within his palms.

"He said…" Castle stutters before beginning again. "He said '_It's like I tricked you'._"

Looking up at the detective, Castle's eyes meet hers, but she doesn't reply - only waits for him to finish his thought.

"Do you think he-"

"-faked his amnesia?" she concludes, as he nods in concurrence. "I was wondering the same thing," she adds with a sigh, "but…"

"But?"

There's a pregnant pause as Beckett tears her gaze from Castle, looking back at the coffee mug warming her palms. "But all the heartache…" she mutters, "I can't understand why anyone would ever choose to do something like that…"

"Yeah," Castle sighs, his gaze shifting to look down at her mug as well. "Me neither."

* * *

><p>Reaching for her cell, she flips it open to check the time. 4:47am. Turning onto her back again, Beckett flops her head back onto the pillow as she stares at the ceiling. She's hardly slept all night, her mind anxious. Troubled. She's exhausted, but sleep refuses to come.<p>

So she gives up.

Throwing the comforter off her torso, she tumbles off the mattress and stumbles her way into her bathroom. A hot, steaming shower might help.

It doesn't.

The subway ride to the precinct is quite tranquil at 5:30am, the regular bustle of Manhattan commuter traffic not yet awake. Normally, she would relish the peace and quiet, but this morning it feels gloomy. Ominous.

The walk from the subway station to the 12th isn't a long one, but lengthy enough to allow yesterday's distress to re-emerge.

Nodding wordlessly to the officer at the reception desk, Beckett heads for the elevator, but reaching for the call button, she halts her movements. Pressing her tongue firmly into the side of her cheek, she opts to continue down the hall, heading for the stairs. The climb might help.

It doesn't.

Normally she'd enjoy the solitude, but this particular morning, it feels off. The quiet hum of the Homicide floor is... disconcerting.

It's not yet 6:00am and there are only a few night staffers here, just packing up their things, getting ready to head home. Normally, she would distract herself by burying herself in her work. Writing a report. Closing the case.

But one look at her work space, and she just doesn't feel up to it.

She slowly peels off her long leather coat and tosses it across the back of her chair. She stills for a moment as she looks down at her desk - two mugs of cold, untouched decaffeinated coffee gracing the surface. Her heart flutters slightly as she picks them up, crossing over to the break room.

Dumping the cold, dark liquid in the sink, she sluggishly rinses out her NYPD mug before reaching for the half-full carafe on the hot plate. Hypnotically filling her mug, she slowly ambles across the room and sets herself down in one of the moulded, plastic chairs, her mind elsewhere.

"Hey."

She's snapped from her reverie at the soft sound of his voice.

"Hey," she replies, her fingers tightening the grip on the handle of her now-cold cup of coffee. The bullpen is thrumming with energy as people go about their jobs.

She glances quickly at her watch as Castle rounds the table to take a seat in the chair opposite her. She's shocked to discover it's almost 9:00am. Almost three hours went by and she didn't even notice.

Silence fills the room once again. She toys with her coffee mug a while longer before she and Castle look at each other.

"The guy is guilty of a murder he can't remember," he begins. "That just sucks."

And Beckett can't disagree. This is not the way she thought it would play out, and even after ruminating all evening, it still isn't sitting right. Because nobody can figure out Jeremy's motive.

The story doesn't make sense.

But the prosecution doesn't need the whole story when they have a smoking gun.

"The D.A. doesn't need it," Castle reasons. "But you and me? I know I couldn't sleep last night, could you?"

His words hit her like a ton of bricks as she meets his gaze. He's right. She needs answers. She needs the truth.

They need to go back to Jeremy's apartment.

"Come on, Castle," she says with a light smile, rising from her chair. "Let's go see if we can make the story make sense."

* * *

><p>Beckett feels a heavy weight lift off her chest as she watches L.T. escort a hand-cuffed Darius Langley towards holding. A few seconds later, Jeremy rounds the corner accompanied by Officer Velasquez, a bright smile adorning his face.<p>

Castle returns the grin as the amnesiac approaches Beckett's desk.

"So it's true?" the amnesiac beams.

A smile tugs on the edges of Beckett's lips as she finally gets to utter the words she's been wanting to say the whole case. "Yes, Mr. Preswick. You're free to go."

"But before you do…" Castle adds, looking at Ryan.

"...we thought you'd like to have this back," Ryan smiles. Unzipping a large black case that is sitting on the desk behind him, he carefully removes the original Taglia oil painting and passes it to Jeremy.

"This is mine?" Preswick utters, his thumb unconsciously sliding into the smudge spot on the edge of the image.

Ryan nods affirmatively as Castle adds, "It's also what led us to the killer."

"Wow," Jeremy whispers on a soft breath as he sits down in the brown chair beside Beckett's desk - eyes locked on the painting, Ryan admiring it over his shoulder as Jeremy takes it all in.

"I especially love the fingerprint," Beckett smiles, knowing how that little smudge has saved his life in more ways than one.

Jeremy's thumb runs across the smudge again, almost caressing it lovingly. "Me, too," he grins. "Even if I can't remember, it still somehow feels a part of me."

Castle can't help the warm feeling from flooding his veins as Emma arrives with their dog to take Jeremy home, the sparks evidently jumping between the two.

"So," the writer dares to ask, "are you two gonna…"

"Castle," Beckett whispers, shaking her head as she cuts him off.

"It's okay," Emma chuckles understandingly. "The answer is, who knows? I like him and he likes me. And right now, that's enough."

_Good answer_, Castle muses to himself with a smile.

As they watch the couple leave, Ryan asks what all three of them are thinking. "One of them has fifteen years of baggage. Marriage. Divorce. The other's on a first date. How long you think that'll last?"

"Hopefully for a long time," Beckett replies with a sincere smile, her eyes locked on the couple as they turn the corner.

"Why, Detective Beckett," Castle remarks. "I had no idea you were a romantic."

"I also sleep with a gun," she teases with a playful smirk. "Bet you didn't know that either."

"How about you, Castle?" Ryan ponders. "How long you think it'll last?"

"Well, I guess it's just the writer in me, but I'm hoping for a happy ending," he says before glancing down at Beckett who meets his twinkling gaze.

_Good answer_, Beckett muses to herself with a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**Please forgive any typos you may find. They're sneaky little buggers.**

**.**

**There you go…**

**Judge away. :D**


	12. A Rose For Everafter

**EPISODE 12 - "A Rose For Everafter"**

His fingers fly across the keyboard, keystrokes hardly able to keep up with the tsunami of words flooding his mind, pouring onto the page before him.

An idea popped into his head just before 5:00am and he had to write it. Develop it. Explore it. Let the words flow from his fingertips, allow the story to unfold. Having Nikki visit Rook at his place, only to be ambushed. Such a great scene. The sexy detective caught off-guard, trapped.

Duct taped to a chair.

But an opportunity presents itself - her captor turns away. And that's his mistake, because Beckett is smart, savvy, resourceful-

_Wait? What?..._

Shaking his head at his typo (_That's what it is! A typo! Just a typo!)_, he taps repeatedly on the backspace key, deleting the word "Beckett" that he just typed into the document, and quickly writes "Nikki" before pushing himself away from his laptop.

Castle shakes the cobwebs from his head and leans back in his office chair, pressing his huge palms against his tired eyes. He needs coffee. Now. Releasing a slow, laboured yawn, he reaches for his keyboard, gently tapping on the tracking pad, scrolling up through the seven pages of text that poured out during the several hours of binge writing.

'_Not bad,_'he smiles to himself as pushes back from his desk and rises from his chair.

Passing between the bookcases, he plods heavily through the living room, heading straight for the coffee maker.

_'Thank god for automatic timers,' _he muses as he fills a mug with premium dark roast while scratching his nails across his scalp with his left hand - releasing a heavy yawn, fingers messing up his already mussed hair.

Releasing an enraptured moan as he closes his eyes, he swears he can feel the caffeine infusing itself into every pore of his body as the first mouthful of hot, delicious liquid glides down his throat. It's almost orgasmic.

"Flavour country," he mutters, satiated, as he lumbers back to the office, his brain becoming a bit more alert with each subsequent sip.

Sitting back down at his desk, he begins to scan over the words that he'd typed. A few syntax errors here, a couple of dangling modifiers there. Used the word "defiantly" instead of "definitely" at one point, but all in all, not too bad.

Lifting the ceramic mug to his lips, the writer relishes another mouthful of steaming coffee - the aroma of nutmeg tickling his senses - as he stares at the blinking cursor… all alone at the end of the last sentence that he'd written… its rhythmic flashing a hypnotic, digital metronome. It begs to move from its stationary position.

Putting the mug down on the desk, Castle wiggles his fingers over the keyboard… but nothing happens.

No words.

Nikki is stuck. Wrists and ankles duct taped to a chair, mouth covered… and she needs to escape. _But how?..._

Deep in thought, he wanders back into his bedroom. Taking his time, he changes out of his pyjamas - peeling off the wrinkled t-shirt and flannel pants, throwing on a cotton sweater and jeans - all-the-while pondering Nikki's quandary.

Chewing on his thoughts, he settles on the only conclusion that makes sense. The author glances quickly at his watch - 9:14am. It's Saturday, but Alexis_ must_ be awake by now.

Pushing the indigo sleeves up his forearms, he crosses through the loft and quickly ascends the stairs, heading straight for his daughter's bedroom. Arriving at the top of the staircase, he halts in his tracks and stares at the nearest door. He's disrupted the diva's Saturday morning slumber only once before - an _adventure_ he's not eager to repeat - so, careful not to disturb his mother as he slinks past her bedroom, he sneaks to the end of the hallway before gently knocking on Alexis' door.

"Alexis?" he whispers, cracking the door open less than an inch.

"Hey Dad," the teen smiles softly, "it's safe. You can come in." Entering her room, Castle grins at the sight of his daughter sitting up in her bed, curled up under her plush covers with a few pillows propped up behind her back, a well-read copy of George Orwell's _1984_ in hand, the soft light from the morning sun cascading through the window, illuminating the room.

"School?" he inquires, pointing at the novel.

"Yeah, but I was just about to get up," she confirms, knowing there's more to his visit than to talk about her assigned English texts. "What's up?"

"I need help with some research," he states in a tone she knows all too well.

Releasing a playful sigh, the redhead closes the book and purses her lips together to hide her grin, her eyes narrowing as they twinkle. "What am I doing to you _this time_?" she asks, only just able to suppress a chuckle.

"Duct tape me to a chair."

She releases an amused nod as she reads over the insistent and ebullient expression on her father's face, rolling her eyes playfully before replying with a sigh, "Lemme get dressed first."

Yep. Just another Saturday morning at Chez Castle.

* * *

><p>Exiting her cruiser, Beckett slides open her cell. 10:26am. Not too early.<p>

Scrolling through her contacts, she selects Castle's number. Moving her thumb across the keypad, it comes to rest on the "call" key, but she hesitates.

It's Saturday morning.

What if he was out last night? What if he's still… out…

She winces as her stomach tightens and turns. Taking a deep breath, she shakes the jealous thought from her head. Because she's not jealous.

She's not.

Stepping on to the sidewalk, she resolutely presses the button and holds the phone to her ear, listening to it ring as she crosses through the hotel's main entrance.

When it rings again, her free hand unconsciously comes to rest on her abdomen in an attempt to quell the fluttering that is welling up in her stomach. _Why isn't he answering?_

She doesn't even register the lush, elegant decor that she has by-passed in the lobby as a third ring echoes in her ear - hazy images float in front of her eyes. Rumpled sheets… heavy breathing... skin, sheer with the sheen of sweat… fingers, hands, lips, touching, caressing, exploring… long blonde hair, mussed curls, tumbling across satin sheets… deep blue eyes clamped shut in ecstasy... head thrown back against a plush pillow… mouth open and-

Beckett slams her eyes tight, quickly censoring her thoughts.

Her eyes shoot open at the sound of a dinging bell, the elevator doors sliding open. _When did she get in the elevator?_

Stepping out onto the sixth floor, Kate releases an elongated breath through pursed lips - calming her racing pulse - as another ring echoes in her ear. Nothing.

Shrugging off thoughts of what Castle may or may not be tied up doing, the detective spots Esposito approaching. She ends her call, quickly closing her cell. His loss.

"Victim is Sophie Ronson, 35," he reports. "She's in from LA for the wedding."

Back to business.

* * *

><p>Giving Ryan his marching orders, Beckett quickly writes down the names of the bride and groom in her note pad, not paying heed to Ryan looking around.<p>

"Where's Castle?" the Irish detective queries, taking a quick glance down the hall, on the look-out for her shadow.

"I don't know," Beckett replies flatly, not even bothering to look up as she jots down a few questions. "Figured the death of a bridesmaid would be right up his alley."

"Heard 'wedding' and probably got cold feet," Ryan smirks, grinning as Beckett looks up, leering.

Rolling her eyes, Beckett doesn't give the young detective a chance to comment further as she walks away, leaving him to set up interviews with the wedding guests.

Pulling her cell out of the pocket of her long, red coat, Beckett slides it open and hits re-dial. Staring blankly at the guarded door of the bridal suite, she listens as the monotonous ringing continues to repeat, the sound rather hypnotic. _Where is he?_ _Maybe he's out… Maybe he _was _on a date last ni-_

But before her mind has a chance to taunt her further, Castle's voicemail recording snaps her from her disturbing daze.

"Hey Castle. There's been a murder. Beaumont Hotel," she says, forcing her voice to stay steady as she leaves a message. _Short. To the point. Focus._

Snapping her phone shut, Beckett takes a slow, deep breath, clearing her head before stepping into Suite 605.

Quickly scanning the luxurious, grandiose space, Beckett takes note of a dozen or so people scattered amongst the divided room. Some near the bed. Others at the couches. Several people in formal wear, bunched together, wiping eyes and noses with kleenex, arms crossed, blankly confused faces.

And then her eyes land on the bride. Short. Gorgeous white lace dress. Arms glued tight to her side, fingers playing together nervously. Eyes looking around but not seeing anything. Not even the tall man who is pressed up beside her, running his hand gently up and down her spine. Presumably the groom.

_'She's stunning_,' Kate muses, taking a minute to silently observe the couple.

He's talking. She isn't. His eyes are fixed on his bride. Her lips are pursed together tightly, as if the idea of allowing words to escape her mouth will curse her. Beckett almost wants to look away as she watches him press a gentle kiss to his bride's temple… like she's intruding on an intimately private moment.

As much as she knows that they are both persons of interest - like everyone else at the wedding - her heart breaks for the young couple. She can't even begin to imagine what this must feel like - to have such unspeakable tragedy ruin their perfect day.

"Excuse me... Miss Blaine?" Beckett inquires gently, approaching the couple.

"Yes?" the bride replies, her voice cracking slightly as she looks up at the detective, her eyes finding their focus.

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett," she says softly, empathetically, while holding up her shield. "I was wondering if you and your fiancé could answer a few questions."

The bride simply nods affirmatively, pressing her lips together as she heaves a deep sigh, calming her nerves as Greg says, "Of course."

Beckett smiles understandingly at the shocked couple, flipping her notepad open. "When was the last time that you saw Sophie?"

"At the rehearsal dinner last night," Kyra notes. "I don't even think I talked to her. She came all this way for us, and I don't think I even said hello."

Never gets any easier.

* * *

><p>Tossing the shredded duct tape on to the counter with a flourish, Castle beams in triumph as he picks up the aluminum can off the floor.<p>

"Talk about your _can openers_," he grins at the can, amused by his own terrible pun. But his celebration is short-lived as he remembers that Beckett called. Twice.

Crossing from the kitchen into the living room, the writer grabs his phone from atop the glass-top coffee table and brings up his voice mail messages.

A murder at a posh hotel? _Awesome!_

Rushing to the hall closet, Castle throws on a coat and scarf and races out the door - not even worrying about the scattered mess of trash he left all over the kitchen floor.

After all… murder and mystery wait for no man.

Besides, Alicia is scheduled to clean the place today anyway.

* * *

><p>The faint ring of the elevator bell draws Beckett's attention from her note pad… and she catches herself nibbling at the inside of her cheek as she glances down the hall at the approaching men - the three of them apparently engaged in deep conversation. Discussing the case, perhaps? Maybe building theory about the murder?... without her?<p>

She swallows down the churning sensation in her lower abdomen, trying to focus on the writing in her notebook - but the deep timbre of Castle's warm voice hinders her concentration.

"Bridesmaid dresses are supposed to be hideous," the author remarks.

She bites back an amused - and relieved - smile. So much for _deep_ conversation.

"Really?" the Latino asks. "Why?"

Beckett speaks before she can catch herself. "So that the bride looks more beautiful in comparison."

"Ah, see? Not a woman alive who doesn't think about her wedding day, not even Kate Beckett," Castle teases, not letting such a beautiful set-up go to waste.

_Crap_.

"Tell me you never tore a picture of a wedding gown out of a magazine," he challenges playfully.

_Game on._

"I've never torn a picture of a wedding gown out of a magazine," she counters before turning to walk away, attempting to keep the grin on her face from becoming too evident.

Because she's lying. And he knows it.

But imagining the fantasy day? The perfect dress? That was a lifetime ago. When she was young and naïve. Before her world turned upside-down. So thinking about a wedding day that will probably never come? Pointless.

Who would want to marry her?... The mess that is her life? And the baggage that comes with her?

There's a reason she's single.

Besides... marriage requires commitment. A commitment she can't give at the moment. And that's probably not going to change anytime soon.

...maybe never.

Keeping ahead of the boys, Beckett enters the Bridal Suite and hastily turns her attention to a few members of the wedding party in an attempt to refocus on the case. A woman is dead. This is not about _her. _This is not about her failure as-

"Kyra?"

Castle's voice echoes in her ears - the tone soft and gentle - snapping her attention. A tone so full of tenderness as well as torment. A tone she's never heard from him before. A tone she doesn't know how to read.

"You two know each other?" she whispers, looking over at the bride and then back at the writer, noting the radiant gleam of his eyes. The swell of emotion. Fathoms deep.

She barely even hears his reply about it being an understatement because a flurry of ambiguous thoughts and questions (to which she _really _doesn't want answers) begin to surge in her mind.

The conversations in the room seem to fade as she watches the scene play out in front of her, words becoming incomprehensible murmurs, surrounding conversations transforming into white noise. Her stomach twitches as her eyes dart back and forth between the writer and the bride - their eyes wide, twinkling, locked on each other. Their smiles so genuine... electricity buzzing... an air of longing floating heavily around them.

Vibrations course through her arm and she winces as the unsettling clawing within her chest overwhelms her. She wants to look away. But she can't seem to divert her gaze.

But when her arm vibrates again, Beckett snaps from her hypnotic state, glancing down at the source - the cellphone within her grasp. Looking down at the text, her surroundings slowly return to focus, the cacophony of movement and chatter becoming more pronounced as she hears a soft female voice utter, _"This is so surreal. It's my wedding day and you show up."_

"Castle," she states, attempting to establish a firmness in her voice that she's not feeling, "Lanie's got something for us."

Her eyes train back on the couple before her as he absently replies, "I'll catch up."

She tries to remain nonchalant. Hopes her response sounded empty and void of emotion, but the moment she leaves the Suite, Beckett's resolve coils tightly in her stomach. Inhaling deeply, firmly, the detective makes her way down the hall towards the elevator, feet shuffling along the elegant carpet, suppressing the fluttering in her core.

So Castle has a history with the bride.

So what.

It doesn't matter.

It _doesn't _matter.

* * *

><p>Lanie's '<em>Mm-hmm' <em>reverberates in Beckett's ears as she exits the isolated silence of the elevator.

She'd gone to Lanie for an update. For some information about the murder. She didn't expect to get waterboarded by the M.E. - grilled about the bride. And Castle.

_'Ancient, modern or sexual?' _Lanie had quipped.

Her stomach had flipped when she'd affirmed that all of the above were most likely. Which was stupid. She had no reason to be unsettled by this turn of events. By this... revelation. He's a grown man. He has a kid, for god's sake! He's definitely not a virg-

_Wait? Whoa! What?!_

Catching herself as her steps falter, Beckett leans against the wall as the jello-like sensation in her legs suddenly becomes more prominent. Closing her eyes, she presses a hand to her face, exhaling slowly against the warm skin of her long fingers. Quickly shaking her head, she clears from her mind the unwelcome speculation regarding Castle's sexual history as if erasing an etch-a-sketch.

Languidly, the detective's hand slides down the front of her red Max Mara coat, tracing the edge of her rose and magenta scarf, open palm coming to rest against her quivering abdomen. Inhaling deeply through her nose, releasing it gradually through pursed lips, Beckett calms her erratic mind, attempting to bury fantastical and unsettling imaginings of Castle's past deep down into the dark, vestal recesses of her subconscious.

Taking an additional moment, she finally opens her eyes, gaze falling on the elegantly patterned hall carpet. Steeling herself, Beckett's teeth dig sharply into her lower lip as she turns her head, glancing once again at the open door of the Bridal Suite.

'_You okay with that?'_

Lanie's question echoes over and over again in her brain. She'd admonished her friend's sass - dismissed the notion of… of…

But looking at the writer now, standing just beyond the doorway…

Beckett shakes her head and pushes off the wall. _Focus Beckett_. Chastising herself, the emboldened detective strides with purpose into the Suite, but slows her pace significantly as the bride and groom shuffle past.

"Kyra Blaine," Castle breathes as Beckett comes to a halt beside him. "Wow."

"I take it she was someone very special," she observes, soft voice trying desperately to mask the jittery sensation building in her stomach as she watches Castle watch Kyra.

Her breath catches at his affirmation. "She's the one that got away."

Cue the ominous music. Hard fade to black.

She'd been prepared for_ history_. But _that _was one particular curve ball she hadn't expected him to throw.

Swing and a miss.

Strike one.

* * *

><p>Stunned, the petite bride's words echo in the detective's ears as she watches the elevator doors close.<p>

'_He only dedicates his books to people he really cares for.'_

Her heart flips at the memory of the book launch party. Of seeing the dedication of the first time. The way he had looked at her - such tenderness in his eyes - as she'd stumbled over herself in an effort to process those words: _To the extraordinary KB..._

Extraordinary.

He's smitten with her, that's no secret. They tease. They torment. They banter. This is what they do. This who they are. And she knows he misguidedly believes her to be extraordinary...

But care for her?

_Care?_

Her stomach twists at the thought that… at the notion of… of-

The sudden chime of the elevator bell wakes her from her reverie. Still in a slight daze, Beckett ventures out of the elevator, only to immediately collide with a firm, solid torso on the other side of the sliding doors. Electricity courses through her as wide, strong palms firmly grips her arms, holding her steady... keeping her from falling.

She swallows heavily - the familiar and alluring earthy scent of vanilla and nutmeg washing over her - as she lifts her head only to be met with a set of deep blue eyes whose gaze seems to be as equally lost as her own.

"You okay, Beckett?" the writer asks as she simultaneously mutters, "Sorry, Castle." Time seeming slows to a crawl, leaving the two of them awkwardly locked in their silence for a brief moment that lasts an eternity, their breathing suddenly heated.

Kyra's last words replay over and over again in Beckett's head - '_people he really cares for'... 'really cares for'... 'cares...' _- as she continues to stare, unable to tear her eyes away from his. Her heart begins to pound erratically against her rib cage, the loud rhythm thumping in her ears, blood beginning to boil in her veins - god, she hopes she's not blushing.

She forces her eyes to stay locked on his and not fluctuate. _Do not look at his lips… Do not look at his lips… Do not look at his li-_

Suddenly, the sound of Beckett's phone ringing abruptly snaps them from their shared trance, Castle immediately releasing her forearms, tearing his hands away as if he'd been burned.

"Uhhh…" he mumbles, taking a step back outside her personal bubble, curling his hands into awkward fists as he stares at her wide-eyed while she clears her throat. Quickly tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, Beckett reaches into her coat pocket to retrieve her cell as it rings again - all the while keeping her gaze fixed on the carpet under her feet, not trusting herself to even look at the man in front of her.

"Beckett," she states firmly into the microphone, turning away from the writer so he doesn't she her swallow sharply.

"_Flunitrazepam,"_ Ryan's voice echoes in her ear.

Beckett spins back to look at Castle, completely refocused. "Roofies?"

"_Yep,"_ the Irishman confirms. _"Sophie was definitely up to something."_

"Okay," she nods, eyes darting back and forth, mind whirring, "Castle and I will look into the Roofies. You and Espo keep trying to locate the missing groom's man."

"_On it."_

Snapping her cell shut, Beckett scrunches her nose slightly in thought before pondering aloud, "Why would a bridesmaid need roofies?"

"You want to take advantage of a guy, knocking him unconscious kind of defeats the purpose," Castle confirms matter-of-factly. "Best way? Just ask."

_Just ask, huh?... _she thinks to herself as her eyes fix themselves on the writer. _If it was only that simple..._

* * *

><p>Beckett glances down at her watch. It's getting late. The warrant for Sophie's financials won't be ready until tomorrow and the boys are waiting on some info that won't be available until morning. Might as well call it quits.<p>

Ryan and Esposito don't ask twice when she gives them leave to head home, Ryan desperately trying to hide a not-so-stealthy yawn. Watching them disappear from the vacant sixth floor corridor, Beckett takes one last look through the Suite in search of the writer, but he's nowhere to be found.

It's not like him to leave a crime scene… especially without saying something.

"Seen Castle?" she asks of the officer who has been trying his best to wrangling the wedding party all day.

"Was heading to the elevator a few minutes ago…" the uniform notes. "Said something about the ballroom."

She silently thanks him with a nod of her head as she makes her way down the wide hallway.

_The ballroom, eh?_

Stepping out of the elevator, she purposeful heads down the empty ninth-floor corridor, her pace slowing involuntarily as she gets closer and closer to the grand entrance, her mind suddenly abuzz with rampant speculation.

_Why would he have gone to the ballroom? _It's not relevant to the case…_ unless?..._

Slowing to a halt in front of the massive cream-coloured double doors, Beckett's hand falls on the handle, yet she can't bring herself to pull on it, apprehensive of what she might be walking into. What she might see...

Taking a deep breath, she grips the handle firmly, but she only manages to crack the door an inch or two before halting her movements upon hearing a soft, sweet voice - _"Some girls would think what happened today is a sign " -_ eking from inside the room.

Her breathing hitches slightly when she hears Castle's deep voice utter, _"The murder?" _but she buries her discomfort and quietly pulls the door open enough to enter - her feet unable to advance more than a few steps because she's immediately met with the distinctive sight of the writer, his back turned.

She almost speaks when she hears Kyra's voice breathe on a whisper _"And you" _with a swell of emotional innuendo that causes the words that Beckett had intended to speak to stall in the back of her throat.

The air in the room becomes still and heavy - a sense of intimate longing settling over the massive space. Kate momentarily debates slinking out of the room - escaping before they notice her presence. Her intrusion. But she can't bring herself to leave. To tear her eyes away.

Her feet move before she can think better of it, her mouth opening against her better judgement, the words that were previously caught in her dry throat now stumbling out - cutting the heated tension, bursting the enchanted bubble that had enclosed itself around the former couple.

"Castle?" she chokes, unable to spit out anything else for a moment as she watches the writer twist to face her, Kyra poking her head out from beyond his shadow. _Awwk-warrrd…_ "We're on our way," she stutters slightly as she continues, unable to prevent the words from escaping her lips, "I thought you might need a ride."

It feels like an uncomfortable love triangle…_ which is ridiculous_, Beckett thinks to herself as Kyra excuses herself and Castle awkwardly offers her a slice of cake. By definition, a love triangle requires a romantic relationship involving three people. And there is no romance here. None.

She winces as she slyly shoots a few subtle glances his way as he accompanies her to the elevator, his silence troubling and uncomfortable. But as much as she is curious to ask, she can't bring herself to say anything.

Castle follows her into the empty elevator car and wordlessly comes to stand by her side, distress and confusion darkening his usually bright and playful eyes. Her stomach churns, but she waits. It's killing her, but she waits. And waits. It feels like an eternity - the humming of the elevator paired with the occasional dinging of the floor bell the only sounds breaking the agonizing silence - before he finally releases a heavy sigh.

"We met in college," he confesses. "We were together nearly three years."

"I didn't ask," she replies innocently, despite the butterflies frolicking wildly in the depths of her stomach.

"Yes. You were not-asking very loudly."

She can't help but grin at his comment, her own words from nearly a year ago tossed back at her. The butterflies begin to settle slightly as she dares to speak again. "She's different from your ex-wives."

"What do you mean?"

"She's real," she utters, thoughts of blonde bimbos and the page 6 playboy coasting through her mind. "I didn't think you went for real."

_What now? What was that?!_ _Crap. _

She bites her tongue at the realization of what she just said. What she just revealed about... about… Chancing a glance over at the writer, she feels a slight sense of relief in that he doesn't seem to have connected her words to…

But then her heart sinks as she reads the pain and disappointment on his face. "Tough breakup?" she whispers, breaking the silence just as the doors open.

"It was a long time ago," he mumbles bitterly as the exits the elevator, leaving her speechless.

Swing and a miss.

Strike two.

* * *

><p>Castle speeds through the hotel lobby as quickly as possible without actually breaking into a run, desperate to escape the confines of these stifling walls.<p>

Needing to breathe.

Passing through the gilded main entrance, the writer relishes the shocking sensation of the crisp night air washing over his face the moment he steps outside. He inhales deeply - ironically cleansing his lungs with the exhaust-laden winter air of the Manhattan streets.

Pacing slowly away from the doorway, Castle's mind races - a muddle of conflicting thoughts causing havoc in his head.

_What the hell is going on_?...

Kyra's engaged. She's getting married. She's off-limits.

But the way she looked at him, her eyes glistening, the unmistakable aura of requited longing - the depth of their history - flooding over them. The way his heart fluttered and raced, the way shivers coursed along his spine, the way his throat dried…

Closing his eyes, he leans back against the cold brick wall of the building, trying to make sense of the chaos swirling in his head - until he's woken from his reverie at the sound of an all-too familiar voice.

"Castle?"

Parting his lashes, he's met with the vision of Beckett, her head canted slightly, eyes unreadable.

"You coming?" she inquires.

"Yeah," he mutters with a slight huff, pushing off the wall and crossing over to her Crown Vic. Without another word, he crawls into the passenger seat, watching Beckett out of his peripheries - noting how she's observing him. Judging him.

'_I didn't think you went for real.' _Her words continue to echo in his mind amidst the other tumultuous thoughts.

Is that really what she thinks of him? That, even after a year, he's nothing more than an arrogant philanderer. That he's that _superficial_?

Sensing the detective sit down beside him, he releases a sigh as he shifts to stare out the side window, self-doubt settling into his stomach.

What if she's right about him?

What if he can't do _real_?

Where does that leave…

Chancing a quick glance across the inside of the car, he fixes his eyes on the woman behind the wheel, his heart and stomach unsettling themselves again.

_Shit._

He doesn't know _what _he wants.

* * *

><p>"Shudddup!" she barks at the M.E. in retaliation as she leaves the operating room.<p>

She's not jealous. She's _not_ jealous! Why would she be jealous? Just because Castle's long-lost love is around? So what? It's no concern to her. She has no claim on him. She's just his inspiration. His muse.

_For his books!_

Nothing else. Just the books.

Her favourite author. Who writes books inspired by her. About her life.

And a sex scene that she dreamt of for weeks. A sex scene about her.

No! _Nikki_! It was about _Nikki!_ Not her!

Besides... she has no history with him. Not the way he does with Kyra.

But the way he looks at her sometimes… his penetrating gaze... his dark eyes glistening like endless oceans… breath heavy and heated. The way her heart flutters and races. The way shivers course along her spine. The way electricity races through her veins. The way her throat dries…

_Shit._

She _is _jealous.

* * *

><p>Pressing her hand to her mouth, Beckett fails at her attempt to stifle a yawn. It's almost midnight. She's been going over the various statements given by the members of the wedding party for the last few hours, and the fatigue is starting to set in.<p>

She'd left the precinct after releasing Greg, but her mind wouldn't shut down, so after grabbing a burger at Remy's, she had returned to work - the bullpen dark and quiet, almost everyone having gone home for the evening.

She's always liked working after hours when the hustle and bustle of the day had died down, but even now - after having downed three cups of coffee in the last hour alone - well... she doubts that even an IV caffeine drip pumping directly into her veins would have much of an effect at this point.

Pressing the heels of her hands into the hollows of her eyes, the detective attempts to wipe away her exhaustion before looking back at the piles of paper strewn across her desk - the bright light of her desk lamp causing the white pages to glow amidst the darkened bullpen… however, the words on the papers no longer seem to form coherent sentences. Most of it doesn't even look like English anymore...

Maybe it's time to call it a night.

"Detective?" Kate looks up at the sounds of a female voice, bleary-eyed, to see Officer Velasquez handing her a folder. "I was told you would want these right away…"

"Surveillance photos," the detective nods affirmatively, lethargically reaching for the file. "Thanks."

Dropping it atop the plethora of other files scattered across the surface before her, Beckett stares at the closed manila folder for a few torturous moments, unsure whether or not to open it.

'_You have to stay away from her, Castle, until this case is closed.' _She'd made herself perfectly clear… but… Did he?

Does she really want to know?...

She could just leave it... take a look in the morning…

She could…

Taking a quick glance through the dark and practically vacant bullpen, she notes that she is - indeed - alone. Closing her eyes, she flips open the cover of the folder, and bracing herself with a deep inhale, slowly parts her lashes, focusing her gaze upon the stack of 8x10 prints in front of her.

Her hands tighten unconsciously as she attempts to quell the overwhelming churning in her stomach, the sight of the writer and his _one-that-got-away_ inching closer and closer together with the reveal of each subsequent photo until…

Oh. God.

Kate swallows heavily and slams the folder shut, fluidly grabbing her coat from the back of her chair while rushing for the elevator - the image of Castle and Kyra, lips locked together while in a passionate embrace, burned into her retinas.

A passionate embrace that they might still be wrapped up in at this very moment.

...or more.

And she doesn't want to think about it.

Doesn't want to know.

* * *

><p>It's just past 2:00am when he carefully slides the key into the lock of his front door. For the last two hours, he'd been nursing a grande cappuccino at a 24-hour coffee shop in Little Italy - just him and his thoughts. His confusing, taunting thoughts. Taunting thoughts about Kyra, the taste of her lip gloss still lingering on the tip of his tongue. Confusing thoughts about… everything.<p>

Cracking the door open, he slowly pushes it into the room, hoping the hinges don't squeak too much.

The loft is dark, quiet - long shadows mixed with slashes of dim street lights wash through the vastness of the open-concept space. The ticking of the hall clock is the only sound, Alexis and Martha evidently long since retired for the evening.

Silently toeing off his shoes, Castle creeps into his bedroom, peeling off his overcoat and scarf, tossing them haphazardly across the beige settee as his eyes fall on an item that unsettles his stomach.

Hand stretching out towards the bookshelf, his fingers hesitantly flip open the cover of the leather notebook he'd carelessly deposited there. Familiar, younger eyes stare up at him.

His.

And Kyra's.

Picking up the older photograph that he'd looked at earlier that evening, Castle stares blankly at the image. What the hell is he doing? Kyra is not his. She moved on. She's engaged. And yet, everything he felt so long ago when they danced under the clock in Grand Central Station - every wonderful, painful, conflicting emotion - came back with a vengeance the moment he stared into her beautiful, pained eyes. The moment she'd admitted she's missed him. The moment he admitted he's missed her.

The moment their bodies pressed together. The moment their lips met.

It felt so right.

And so wrong.

His mother was right. This picture is a loaded gun.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Castle haphazardly shoves the photo back between the pages, closes the leather-bound notebook once again, and replaces it on the shelf. Wiping his fingers across his eyes as he crosses the room, he strips down to his boxers before sitting down on the bed. Elbows digging into his thighs, Castle buries his face in his massive palms for a brief moment before running them up across his scalp, pushing his hair back off his forehead.

His mind is a torrential flurry of swirling thoughts and emotions that he just doesn't have the energy to deal with right now.

Not even bothering to put on his pyjamas, Castle crawls under his covers, burying his face in his pillow - but sleep won't take hold. The events of the evening relentlessly repeat in his head like a damaged record that can only play one song - meeting Kyra on the roof, hugging her, kissing her hungrily, passionately - then suddenly pulling away when he realized that she… she… the two of them staring at each other knowing they hadn't really been kissing each other. Kyra had been kissing Greg. And he'd been kissing… he'd imagined she was…

Wide-eyed, Castle repositions himself, flipping onto his back, eyes hypnotically locked on the ceiling.

Beckett.

He'd tasted Beckett. Felt Beckett. Caressed Beckett. Wanted Beckett.

But when his fingers began to twist and tangle within long curls that didn't belong to Beckett...

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Throwing his left arm out his side, Castle grabs his spare pillow and flops it roughly atop his face, smothering himself, muffling his frustrated groans which are swallowed by the plush goose-feathers.

The Universe is cruel.

* * *

><p>The side of her head pressed deeply into her pillow, Beckett heaves yet another sigh - it's almost 4:00am and she hasn't slept a wink. Her eyes are wide open; her brain is fully active, unable to rest. Unable to block out the images that she wishes she hadn't looked at.<p>

The image of Kyra's gloved hand tenderly tracing Castle's jaw, his face inches from hers, eyes speaking volumes…

The image of their arms wrapped tightly around each other, bodies pressed against each other, mouths fused as they taste each other deeply…

Tossing her comforter aside, Beckett swiftly leaves the comfort of her warm bed and rushes to her ensuite. Wrenching the tap, she roughly splashes cold water into her face once... twice... three times. Eyes closed, head hanging low, she breathes deeply as she plants her drenched palms on either side of the sink, the frigid water dripping from the ends of her hair, splattering against the enamel below.

But like the blood on Lady Macbeth's hands, she just can't seem to wash away the visions that haunt her dreams. That torment her subconscious.

Thoughts of what might have happened next. What might be happening right now...

Visions of undulating bodies… clothes scattered around the room… hands tracing bare skin… fingers entwined… legs tangled together… sheets tossed aside… eyes slammed shut in ecstasy... mouths agape with pleasure...

_Oh god! Make it stop! _

Padding quickly from the bathroom, Beckett scrambles over to her dresser, hastily digging out a t-shirt and yoga pants. She's got a change of clothes in her locker at work - she'll make use of them today. Throwing on the gym clothes, she grabs her cell from off her bedside table, tosses on a coat, pockets her mom's ring and dad's watch, and heads out the door.

The frosty early morning air feels good.

And taking out her frustrations for a few hours on the heavy bag in the precinct weight room will feel even better.

* * *

><p>"You had me under surveillance?" Castle remarks, incensed.<p>

"Not _you_," she justifies, trying to convince him - as well as herself. "Kyra."

But he's not buying it… and calls her on it.

"I had to make sure that you didn't do anything stupid, which you did," she snarks.

"We just _kissed_," he insists. "That's all that happened."

"That's all that happened _for now_!"

_Wait! What?! _All they did was_ kiss? _She meets his eyes in a penetrating staring contest, not allowing herself to blink. Even though her heartbeat feels like it's gone from a sluggish crawl to a full-on gallop.

He _kissed_ her. All they did was _kiss_. They didn't-

Espo's interruption shakes their stand-off. "Everything okay?" _How had she not heard him approach?_

"Yeah," she insists as Castle simultaneously says, "No."

Swing and a…

Foul ball!

She swallows, trying to focus on the case and not the writer sitting adjacent to her.

_Fuck. _This game used to be so simple. What the hell happened?

* * *

><p>Venom in his throat and daggers in his eyes, Castle glares at the fiancé, not flinching in the least at the blatant challenge to his integrity. "If you've got something to say to me, why don't you just say it?" he spits, the two men staring each other down with vile malice.<p>

"I love Kyra, Rick," Greg professes, leaning into the author's personal space - a brazen challenge. "She means the world to me. Maybe you can't see it, maybe you don't care, but Teddy has been nothing but supportive of us the whole way. He filed our wedding license. He helped up write our prenup. He always looks after…"

Beckett follows up with a question that doesn't even register with Castle as Greg's words replay in his mind: '_Maybe you don't care.'_

The writer feels like he got slapped in the face. And deserved it.

Greg is a good man. An honourable man. And he loves Kyra.

_What the hell is he doing? _

Taking a deep breath, he has a sudden epiphany. A realization of the most simple truth that he's been avoiding for the last few days. A truth that cannot be ignored. That there comes a point in everyone's life when we have to realize that some people can stay in our hearts, but sometimes they no longer have a place in our lives.

Sometimes, we need to let go and move on.

Glancing at Beckett, everything becomes clear.

It's time.

* * *

><p>Beckett chews lightly on the inside of her lips, inhaling and exhaling extremely slowly, straining to keep her eyes locked on the papers spread out in front of her, but she can't seem to focus. She's read the same line of Ted Murphy's confession statement at least twelve times, but she still has no idea what it says.<p>

Because Castle is in the conference room to her left.

The glass door closed.

Kyra sitting beside him.

Daring to shoot a glance at the figures out of the corner of her eye, Beckett swallows lightly as her gaze shifts in their direction… soon followed by her head… and then her entire body.

It's like a car crash on the side of the highway. She can't help but look… watch… and wonder.

Wonder about the man sitting there, so different from the man who's been following her around for almost a year. The tenderness in his eyes. The concern. The genuine... _love_. She'd seen glimpses of this man once or twice - notably when he sat beside her in the hospital and told her she was extraordinary.

_Extraordinary_.

He'd written that in the book dedication… and he only dedicates books to… to people who…

Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, as if keeping her lips from moving will prevent her mind from racing, screaming with a flurry of conflicting thoughts. Thoughts that she's so often ignored or suppressed in the past. Thoughts that have no business floating through her head.

Her heart begins to flutter as she swallows heavily, her eyes trained on the man on the other side of the glass. The man whose attention is focused fully on the young woman now standing beside him - their eyes locked.

Suddenly feeling as if she's intruding on an intimate moment between lovers, Beckett inhales deeply and tries to look away, but when Kyra leans in and brushes her lips against Castle's cheek, Beckett's breath catches in her chest, her heart fluttering erratically. She wants to turn her head… give them privacy… yet she's entranced by Castle's eyes, the expression on his face. It's one she's never seen before.

She can't define it.

Pleased? Hopeful?... yet also full of sorrow?

But she doesn't have a chance to consider it further as Kyra suddenly turns towards the door. _Shit shit shit! _Beckett frantically scrambles, whipping around quickly. _Do something. Focus! Papers! Read papers!_

Beckett swallows as she senses the young woman approach, a light shadow casting darkness across the white papers strewn atop the surface of her desk. _Breathe Kate_, _she may not have noticed_.

Feigning ignorance, the detective looks up, only to be met by Kyra Blaine's bright, jubilant smile.

"He's all yours."

The words loop in Kate's head as she watches the woman cross through the bullpen and turn the corner - disappearing from view.

Kate swallows lightly as she looks back at the man sitting in the conference room, her mind reeling as she observes the sombre writer… melancholy weighing heavily on his broad shoulders.

Her heart thumps in her chest so hard that it feels like it might crack a few ribs as she forces herself to her feet, crossing the room. Coming to a stop in the doorway, she leans against the frame, unnoticed by the author who toys with the video camera - his eyes hazy, his mind evidently lost in thought.

"So…" she chances, voice gentle in its prodding.

Castle shoots her an inquisitive glance, his eyes clearing slightly, but he doesn't respond.

She offers a light, sympathetic smile, though it feels nugatory. "You okay?"

Castle's eyes fall on the recorder in his hand before he releases a sigh. Though lacking his usual twinkle, a slight grin tugs at the side of his mouth when he looks up at her again. "I will be."

She returns the light smile, nodding supportively before pivoting on her heel. She's halted as he utters, "Beckett?..."

"Hmm?" she responds, one hand gripping the edge of the glass door as she twists to look back at him.

"Kyra's getting married tonight."

She says nothing - curious, but savvy enough to wait him out.

"Do you…" He pauses, the words dying on his tongue as he looks up at her, blue orbs meeting hazel. Mouth gaping, he tries again. "Wanna… um… come to the wedding with me?"

Her mouth is suddenly parched, lips dry, but she must have said '_sure'_ because Castle's face illuminates with joy, the crinkles beside his eyes becoming more prominent as he beams at her.

"Okay," he grins warmly, rising from his chair.

"Okay," she smiles slyly in return as she grabs her coat, the two of them heading for the elevator.

And for once, she doesn't seem to mind the uncontrollable fluttering in her core.

Swing and a...

* * *

><p>.<p>

**Happy Holidays!**

**This one was challenging not only to wrap my head around, but to find time to write it.**

**.**

**Shout out to Syzygy for going on a typo hunt and blah blah blah. ;)**

**Judge Away! :D**


	13. Sucker Punch

_**Huge thank you to everyone who followed and reviewed the previous chapter. Always nice to know people are still reading this fic.**_

_**On with the 'show'...**_

* * *

><p><strong>EPISODE 13 - "Sucker Punch"<strong>

Stepping out of the cab, Castle quickly looks around at the plethora of patrol cars parked outside the building - lights flashing, flickers of blue and red bouncing off the brick walls. The van from the OCME is double-parked next to Espo and Ryan's cruiser, but no sign of Beckett's car yet.

It's been more than a year of shadowing her, but he still won't cross the yellow tape without her. Mostly because the officers at the tape are doing their jobs. But even if the uniforms guarding the barrier would let him though, he still wouldn't do it. He enjoys their routine too much - lifting the tape for her in a gentlemanly way... engaging in small talk on the way to the crime scene... inadvertently bumping shoulders every so often (_It's unintentional! Really!)..._ watching her face light up when he says something frivolous or funny… or if he brings her a…

...coffee.

It's early. He hasn't had his coffee yet. Maybe she'd like one too… especially if it brings a smile to her face.

Peering down the sidewalk, he disappointedly shakes his head as he notes the lack of coffee shops in the immediate area. '_Go figure that we land a murder on the one street in New York that doesn't have a Starbucks or a Java Loft!'_ he huffs to himself, disgruntled.

However, his face lights up when he spots a semi-dilapidated coffee cart just across the street. It's slightly worse for wear, but beggars can't be choosers.

Speeding across to the adjacent sidewalk, the writer quickly orders two black coffees - no fancy lattes available at this stand - and pockets a couple of packets of sugar and a few creamers before bolting back to the crime scene tape as he spots Beckett's Crown Vic pull up to the building.

Leaning casually against a lamppost, he grins to himself and straightens his spine as he watches her approach, her coat swaying rhythmically next to her hips, her steps gliding along the concrete as if it was fluid.

"Well now…" she laughs as she sidles up to him, "that's ironic,"

"Huh?"

She purses her lips playfully in an attempt to hide a saucy grin as she nods upwards, hazel eyes signalling him to look above his head.

Feet still planted, he twists at the waist, glancing up at the sign that her eyes had trained on - snickering to himself as he reads the warning: "No Standing At Anytime."

"Breaking the law again, Mr. Castle?" she smirks as he continues to stand there, directly under the sign.

"What can I say?" he grins in lighthearted retaliation, casually bringing one of the coffees to his lips as she takes the second one from his grip with a beaming smile. "I'm a rebel like that."

Reaching into his pocket to grab the sugar and creamers for her as he simultaneously takes his first sip, he suddenly spits out a mouthful of dark liquid, the spray painting the sidewalk as if it were a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. "_OH MY GOD!"_ he retches, wincing as his tongue hangs out of his mouth, his eyes screwed shut in agony. "Beckett, don't drink that!"

"That bad?"

"Remember that battery-acid monkey-pee you used to drink?" he cringes, quickly grabbing her cardboard cup from her hand.

"Yeah…" she replies, biting back the acute desire to laugh as she watches him unceremoniously dump the take-away cups in a nearby trash bin.

"Soooo much worse!" he gags again, accepting her merciful offer of a stick of gum.

She bites the inside of her cheek, suppressing a giggle. "Well, thank you for your gallantry in saving me from the anguish of drinking ersatz coffee," she grins, ducking under the yellow tape that the uniform holds up for her after she flashed her shield.

"I would comment on how hot it is that you used the word '_ersatz'_," he groans, holding the main door open for her as she rolls her eyes, "but my brain is still punishing me for being gullible enough to drink that sludge."

'_At least I got to see her smile… albeit not the way I'd planned,' _he ruminates, the taste of wet-dog-cigarette-scum still lingering on his tongue as he follows her into the elevator… but his thoughts about suffering due to crappy coffee fade instantly at the sight of the bloody corpse splayed out on the floor.

"Meet the late Jack Coonan…" Espo greets them as they approach the body.

Back to work.

* * *

><p>'<em>Financial independence...'<em> he ponders as his eyes unconsciously smooth over the surface of the DVD case. _'Wouldn't that be nice? I could-'_

"Ryan?!"

The Irishman's bubble bursts as he looks up from the Johnny Vong video cover to see his boss glaring at him. "Huh?" he mumbles, inattentively taking the phone from Beckett as his gaze falls back to the DVD case.

"Ryan!" Beckett repeats emphatically, eyes narrowing, getting the detective's full attention this time. "Coonan. SIM Card. Phone. Now."

"Phone. Right. On it," Ryan stammers with a gulp, backing away sheepishly to approach one of the ESU guys - DVD and bagged cell phone in hand - while Esposito is left glaring at his partner.

The Latino heaves a loaded, exasperated sigh and mutters inaudible affronts under his breath, suppressing the desire to give the Irishman a good whack upside the head.

For now.

Because the moment they return to their cruiser, that's exactly what he does as Ryan is opening the passenger-side door.

"Hey!" Ryan cringes, hand caressing the back of his skull as he climbs into the car.

"Dude!" Espo retorts, wrenching the driver's side door open and thumping himself down behind the wheel. "Pawing at that DVD as if it were a Shih Tzu?! I'm embarrassed for you, Bro!"

"Do you know how much it will cost to raise a kid in this city?!" Ryan counters insistently.

"A _kid_?!" the Latino scoffs. "_Seriously_? You don't have a kid, Bro!"

"...I might someday…"

"You don't even have a girlfriend," Epso continues as if Ryan hadn't even spoken, pulling out into the flowing traffic.

"_Excuse me_?" Ryan retorts.

"Oh yeah," Esposito taunts with a sly smirk, "I forgot about your imaginary girlfriend… What was her name again? Julie?"

"Jenny!"

"Riiiiight... the mysterious Jenny," the Latino repeats, rolling his eyes. "A hypothetical family with a mythical girlfriend. Yeah. Keep dreamin', Bro."

"Don't you ever think about the future?" Ryan turns slightly to face his partner, serious and bewildered. "Settling down? Having a family?"

"Not really. No," Esposito replies flatly, unimpressed, eyes glued to the road. "A kid is just another mouth that I don't want to worry about feeding."

"Well, I do…" Ryan mumbles, settling back in his seat, eyes hypnotically gazing out the window to his right as his mind begins to wander again. _'Financial independence...'_

* * *

><p>The reflection of his own stoic face stares back at him while he stands erect at his office window, hands clasped firmly behind his back.<p>

He knew it would only be a matter of hours before he would be visited, and he was not disappointed. Not two minutes ago, the receptionist paged him from the lobby to inform him that the police were here to see him.

Of course they would come. He is... _was... _Jackie's brother.

Any moment now, there'll be a knock on his door, some cop will break the news that his brother is dead, he will feign shock, feed them a few sound bites, and that will be the end of it.

And then he'll figure out what to do with Trucho - the dumbass! Maybe if he is lucky, Rourke will take care of the stupid moron for him.

But that issue will have to wait for the time being as the sound of knuckles rapping on wood demands his attention.

Show time.

"Come in," he calls in the most formal and pleasant of tones, pretending to search his library for a particular book that will never actually leave the shelf.

"Mr. Coonan?" a soft female inquires from the doorway, drawing his attention.

The woman to whom the voice belongs enters his office, followed closely by a Jason Bateman wanna-be. He must be just over six feet, she's just under. Though her heels are evidently what bring her up to his height. But it's her eyes that have his full attention - because he's seen them before. But where?...

"I'm Detective Kate Beckett," she introduces herself, flashing her badge - (_ahhhhhhh… Beckett.) -_ "and this is Richard Castle," nodding in the direction of the man at her side.

Well now... (_Looks like the little girl's all grown up... and a Detective, too.) _That was unexpected. (_Isn't this going to be fun?.._.)

"Like the author?" Coonan asks, all charm and innocence, offering his hand to the man.

"Exactly like," the man replies, politely shaking his hand. (_So... the lawyer's little girl has a writer boyfriend... interesting...)_

"So," Coonan smiles courteously, "what can I do for you, Detective?"

And then it plays out as if he'd written the script himself. (_Perfect.)_

She breaks the news with as much sympathy - or wait, no, that's _actual _empathy (_how sweet..._) - that she can muster; he flops into his desk chair in utter shock; she goes into a song and dance about catching the murderer (_good luck, sweetheart_...); he continues to stare blankly as if his world has come crashing to a halt. And she - ever the righteous cop who wishes to comfort the distraught family member - just sitting there. Completely clueless.

Aware that the writer is checking out the various plaques on his walls, he decides to bring the focus onto himself. Play the victim. (_Act the innocent flower...)_

"Did, uh..." he stammers for effect, "did my brother suffer?" (_Be the serpent underneath... Hit her where it hurts.)_

She doesn't even hesitate. "Yes." (_Interesting.)_

The frankness of her reply actually surprises him. (_The little girl is stronger than I thought. Perhaps shake her with a different tactic.) _"Thank you for your honesty." (_Attack her sense of integrity.) _"I guess you could have lied to me."

"No, I couldn't," she professes in earnest. "I've been on your side of the table..."

He wants to laugh - laugh at the fact that she's empathizing with _him_ of all people! (_Oh Detective... if you only knew...)_

But like any snake, he's not going to strike. Not yet, anyway. He'll watch. He'll wait. He'll bide his time... and then...

He masks the sly grin that wants desperately to smirk in her face - buries it behind false heartbreak. (_Maybe feed her to Finn Rourke... Let him deal with _this _Beckett. That could be fun...)_

* * *

><p>"And he left his little letter opener tucked behind the driver's side sun visor," Ryan confirms, brandishing the switchblade in question.<p>

"Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is he?"

The three detectives cant their heads to glare at the writer's egregious pun, Beckett rolling her eyes at his impish grin.

Shaking it off with a heavy sigh, Beckett glances back at the boys, all business. "Okay, you guys look into the victim's financials, his phone records, the usual. I wanna know what he was up to, where he went, who he talked to… all of it. Castle and I will head to the morgue to have Lanie test the blade."

"You got it," Espo nods as Ryan hands Beckett the knife, the boys heading off to do some digging, the writer and his muse heading for the elevator.

Castle is quiet during the drive to the Medical Examiner's office. Pensive even.

"What?" she asks as she pulls into the underground parking garage.

Castle pauses before speaking, shaking his head dismissively. "It's… it's nothing."

"Castle…" she warns, impatience lacing her tone.

"It's just…" he sighs, getting out of the cruiser, "it just seems too easy."

Beckett tosses a look at Castle as they enter the building. "Sorry if this one isn't obscure enough for you, Castle," the detective rebukes.

"Come on!" Castle notes, following her down the hall to Autopsy. "We show up at Finn Rourke's bar… Trucho just _happens_ to be there at the same time getting a once-over from the goons_… _and we _conveniently_ find a switchblade - not so well hidden, I might add - in Trucho's car? It's just too… tidy."

"So you think Trucho's not our guy?"

"No… I just… I just think there's more to the story."

"Maybe…" Beckett agrees thoughtfully as she pulls the knife from her pocket and reaches up to push on the swinging door. "Or maybe it's like you said. Maybe Trucho's just not as _sharp_ as he thinks he is."

Castle grins, nodding his approval of Beckett's choice of words, but his smile is wiped quickly from his face the moment they step into the room, meeting the sight of Jack Coonan's cold corpse laying on the autopsy table.

"Found you the possible murder weapon, Dr. Parish," the detective announces, holding up the knife as Medical Examiner drops her files on her desk and approaches her examination table.

"That's not it," Lanie remarks offhandedly after quickly glancing at the blade.

"You didn't even look," the stunned detective counters.

"Sure I did," the M.E. replies with just a hint of sass. "It's a stiletto, four-inch Damascus blade, and it's way too small to make these wounds."

Damn it.

_Why can't it ever be easy?!_

* * *

><p>Sitting in her cruiser, Castle stares out the side window - and his silence concerns her.<p>

"You okay?" she queries.

"Sure," he hums, turning his head to face her, his eyes wide and feigning innocence, "why wouldn't I be?"

Raising an eyebrow, Beckett shoots him a "look" that needles him a little - one that indicates she's got some genuine concern lurking beneath the surface.

"I'm fine, Beckett," he insists with a weak smile, waiting a beat before turning to face the window again while muttering, "just pondering the case."

"Any theories you'd like to share with the class?" she teases in a failed attempt to get him to smile.

"Not yet…" he mumbles, leaving her to chew slightly on the inside of her cheek, a sensation of slight unease and confusion settling in her stomach.

Something's not right… it's written all over his face.

But she heaves a light sigh and redirects her focus on navigating the midday Manhattan traffic while Castle loses himself in his thoughts.

Thoughts he just can't seem to shake.

The look on Lanie's face - the trepidation in her eyes, the anxiety in her tone, the slight quiver in her voice, the way her body closed in on itself. She seemed so… so…. scared.

He's never seen her like that before. She's not a tall woman, but she's always seemed larger than life. Like she could take on the world and the world would run in the other direction. Like she'd seen it all and couldn't be shaken.

Except for today.

And for some reason, the M.E. didn't want Beckett to see her evident distress.

And _that_'s what's really got him worried.

* * *

><p>Castle can only watch - his breath caught in his throat, his fists beginning to clench - as the gangster gets right in Beckett's face, his murderous stare sending daggers directly into the unblinking eyes of the unshakable detective.<p>

"If you've probably cause, I suggest you arrest me now," Finn Rourke growls as he begins to walk away. "If not, I'll remind you this is a private party, and I'll thank you to get the _hell_ out of my place!"

The writer and detective exchange a brief, knowing look and turn to leave the bar, hauntingly aware of the multitude of venomous glares following them as they traipse cautiously through Westie HQ, the overpowering scent of stale beer and death settling over them.

Castle takes a welcome breath of fresh air as he steps out onto the dark, desolate street, tossing a last quick glance over his shoulder at the door of the pub as it slams shut, his feet keeping pace with Beckett's. Exiting the grimy and caliginous alley, the two cross the road to her parked cruiser.

Castle finally remarks, breaking the silence as they reach the Crown Vic, "So someone was running drugs in Westie territory..."

"...and killed Rourke's enforcer," Beckett adds thoughtfully, opening the driver's side door as Castle rounds the car.

"I gotta admit," he nods, climbing into the passenger seat, "I didn't see that one coming."

"Yeah, me neither."

"So what's our next move?"

"Well…" the detective muses, putting the key in the ignition before throwing a subtle glance at the mouth of the darkened alley from whence they'd just come, dark shadows cutting across her face.

Following her thought process, Castle leans forward, impatiently watching the black space, hoping and waiting for movement. _I wonder if..._

"Give her a minute, Castle," Beckett's voice answers his question, leaving him to debate if he'd inadvertently spoken aloud. "She can't just follow us out, it'd be too obvious."

"You noticed her?" Images of the obviously heartbroken young woman permeate his mind. The way her body was closed off. The flood of tears staining her cheeks. How in a room full of people, she looked so alone.

"I'm a homicide detective. If there's one thing I know how to spot, it's a lady looking to unburden herself," she remarks, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.

Not a second later, the young woman in question stumbles out of the alley - coat unbuttoned, hair slightly disheveled, purse tumbling from her shoulder - evidently in a rush to escape. Escape the Westies? Escape her life? Escape something _else_?

"She's looking for us," Castle observes, voice low and gravelly, reaching for the horn on the steering wheel as the woman frantically glances left and right.

Beckett quickly catches his hand and pushes him back. "No, no, no... Don't honk, Deep Throat. You'll spook her."

But as the young woman rushes towards the cruiser after Beckett signalled her with a flash of her headlights, and introduces herself as Molly, Castle's mind wanders in a different direction for a hot second - thoughts of Dr. Parish entering his mind.

The fear on Molly's face - the burden she's carrying - he can't help but wonder what was burdening Lanie so much… yet was hesitant to talk about…

* * *

><p>The three detectives and the writer stare in disbelief as the unlocked metal door hangs open revealing Jack Coonan's mysterious secret.<p>

Johnny Vong DVDs?! _Seriously? _

"You got to be kidding me," Esposito quips as he looks into the bus locker. "This is what Coonan wanted to give to the Feds?"

Castle grins as he looks over at Ryan, the Irishman completely unable to disguise the utter joy on his face - utterly thrilled that someone other than him believes that these DVDs are golden. But Beckett's mind whirrs.

"Hold on," she mutters thoughtfully, mostly to herself, as she reaches into the depths of the locker, grasping one of the DVD cases.

Still unsure of what she's doing, Castle can't help but watch in silence - both intrigued and mesmerized as his muse proves to him again how she's that much more astonishing than most.

His eyes lock on the case in her hands as she flips it open, digging her gloved fingertips into the raised edge of the plastic. "No…" she states, her voice deep and throaty, wrenching open a hidden compartment under the disc to reveal packaged drugs. "This is."

His mind begins to race - a flurry of ideas popping into his head, how this could be so incredibly awesome in a book - only to have his thoughts cut short as he hypnotically watches Beckett flick open her own switchblade, the industrial fluorescent lights of the bus depot reflecting off the keen blade.

_Can she get any sexier?_

Mesmerized, the writer can do nothing but gape as Beckett carefully slices the plastic with the knife, her long finger sliding inside, burrowing into the caked white powder.

_Apparently she can..._

He doesn't dare blink as he watches the slender digit slide between her silky lips - and his mind begins to overflow with dirty and salacious thoughts about her fingers and her mouth and her tongue and-

"Heroin," she utters, her husky voice interrupting his wonderful yet inappropriate daydream as she addresses the boys, all business.

"That was so cool just now," Castle exhales, finally finding the ability to speak again, his eyes darting between the drugs and the detective.

_So hot! So very, very hot!_

"You like that?" she smiles seductively, voice dripping with sex, taunting his libido.

"Yeah," he breathes heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, "it was very _Miami Vice_."

_Good lord! This _MUST_ go in a book one day!_

* * *

><p>He looks over at his partner as they approach their destination, the smiling face of Johnny Vong - a bikini clad bimbo on each arm - beaming down at them from the twelve-foot banner hanging beside the studio door.<p>

"So what's the plan," Espo inquires as he and Ryan meet up with Beckett and Castle just outside the main entrance.

"Follow my lead," Beckett directs as she heads into the building, Castle tight on her heels.

But before Ryan can enter the rotating door, he's halted by Esposito's firm palm slapping against his chest. "You better not embarrass me in there, Bro," he warns, raising an eyebrow.

"What're you…?" Ryan begins, though his phrase dies in his throat, unfinished, as his eyes betray him - gazing wantonly at the banner displayed on the wall just behind his partner, euphoric thoughts of financial independence and secret paths floating through his psyche.

"Yeah…" Espo snarks, rolling his eyes, "that's what I thought."

Grabbing his momentarily absent-minded partner by the collar, the Latino sneers, "C'mon…" as he shoves Ryan through the doors, snapping him from his reverie. "Focus… and be ready if he decides to rabbit."

"Got it," Ryan sighs as they enter the main hall.

The over-the-top cult-like theatrics hit them square in the face as the boys come to a halt next to Beckett and Castle only to watch the Asian motivational speaker walk barefoot across a bed of hot coals.

Noting movement to his right, Esposito glances at his partner, only to be met with the sight of the Irish detective looking down meditatively at his shoes.

"Don't even think about taking them off," the Latino hisses. "If you do, I will pepper-spray you."

* * *

><p>Sitting silently at the conference room table, Castle listens intently to the information Dr. Murray is sharing, but it's the anxious look in Lanie's eyes, the way she's hesitantly chewing on her lower lip, that is concerning him even more.<p>

The look of a lady wanting to unburden herself.

This can't be good.

His eyes lock on the plastic replica of a knife that Dr. Murray removes from a bag, his mind only fully registering certain words -_ "Special Forces" ... "single blow" … "camouflage the skill_" - as his solemn gaze travels to look at the Special Operations Group knife that the forensic pathologist hands to the detective, and then down at the picture of the stabbing victim.

And it suddenly hits him - a cold chill tracing along his spine, the beating of his heart practically stopping as he watches her fingers paint deliberately over the photo...

The size and shape of the wounds.

He's seen them before-

_She's_ seen them before!

He looks up at Beckett's face, her eyes vacant and lifeless, only to hear Dr. Murray utter the words that knock the wind from her. A sucker punch to the stomach that she didn't see coming.

"...Jack Coonan was killed by the same man who murdered your mother."

A lump caught in his throat, Castle remains silent, eyes locked on the detective as her entire body melts, her hand falling open, her grip on the knife failing.

Her grip on everything failing.

After what seems like an eternity, Lanie's small voice breaks the silence with a hesitant whisper, "Sweetie?..." her hand gently skimming along the detective's forearm.

Looking up - her eyes blank abysses, her face expressionless - Beckett turns her head to face the M.E., but Castle can see that her eyes do not register anything. She looks so forlorn. So lost. Like she's desperately gripping the edge of a precipice with the the tips of fingers, dangling above the endless chasm below that threatens to swallow her again.

"I…" the detective stutters with a hard swallow, eyes blankly staring once again at the knife loosely resting in her palm. "I… I need some air," she spits out, hastily pushing back from the table and rushing out of the conference room, hand flying to cover her mouth.

As the boys watch her hasten past Ryan's desk and straight through the opening in the wire-mesh wall, they then look back at the conference room in turn, glancing inquisitively at the writer and the Medical Examiner who pad to the doorway, their faces stoic.

Watching Beckett's back disappear into the shadows of the often deserted hallway, Castle swallows his heart as the pangs of guilt eat at his soul.

* * *

><p>Numb.<p>

That's the only word that can describe how Beckett feels as she stands in the middle of the empty corridor, back to the bullpen, one palm covering her mouth while her right arm hugs her stomach.

She never expected this. Especially not after so many years.

So many years. So many agonizing years. Years of grief, misery, anguish, and despondency. Almost losing her father. Almost losing herself.

But she'd battled back… climbed out of the dark abyss that had consumed her mind. Consumed her life.

She'd built a wall. She'd moved on.

Or so she thought.

'_...we're dealing with a professional…' _

Even as Dr. Murray's words play over and over again in her head, she can feel the fissures widening, the hole opening up, threatening to swallow her whole.

Again.

'_...same weapon that the killer employed ten years ago…'_

Everything darkens around her, the floor under her feet cracking, falling away.

'_...killed by the same man who murdered your mother.'_

Eyes slamming closed, Kate's left hand jets out, palm flying to meet the brick beside her in an attempt to stabilize herself as the walls begin to spin out of control, everything beneath her crumbling away. The arm around her waist clutches even tighter - her fist clenched so firmly that her fingernails threaten to cut the soft flesh of her palm - as she fights to hang on. Fights to keep breathing.

"Kate?"

Biting down hard on her bottom lip - her sharp teeth pulling the tender skin into her mouth - Beckett's eyes squeeze tighter, unable to turn to face the woman at her back.

Lanie's voice is soft. Demure. "Sweetie?..."

Taking a deep breath, Kate's left fingers curl in to grip the sharp edges of the brick - the tangible feel of the hard shale giving her strength. Stability. Providing her with another brick to fortify her heart.

Swallowing the ache that is caught in her throat, Beckett releases the grip on her abdomen, her right palm smoothing across the plains of the stomach, hand coming to rest on her hip as she pushes herself off the wall, controlling every nerve in her body, willing her muscles to not give way beneath her.

Turning, Beckett steels herself - eyes hardening, back stiffening - as she is met with the sight of her friend, alone, at the end of the hallway, the light from the bullpen casting her facial expression in broken penumbras - dark and light converging together.

And as much as Beckett wants - _needs_ - to see the light right now, her mind just can't get past the dark.

The two women lock gazes for what feels like forever before Lanie dares to break the silence.

"Kate…"

"Don't..." Kate warns, her voice icy as her hand flies up in a motion to stop the Medical Examiner from speaking, her feet finding the strength to move forward.

"What do you want me to say?!" Lanie demands gently as Kate surges past her, unable to bring herself meet the doctor's gaze, heading straight for her desk.

"Lanie…" Beckett huffs - her breath shaking, eyes closing. She doesn't want to do this. Not here. Not now.

Halting at her desk and picking up the casefile in an attempt to distract herself, she exhales sharply through her nose as she senses the M.E. circle around to the other side of her desk - cutting off her escape. Forcing the confrontation.

Looking up, Beckett's eyes meet Lanie's - and the only thing she sees is friendship. Friendship and sympathy and tenderness and concern. None of which Beckett can handle at the moment. She needs strength. Tenacity. She cannot be weak.

She cannot be Kate.

She needs to be Detective Beckett.

She needs to be impenetrable.

"I am the investigator of record on this case!" she snaps, dark eyes clawing angrily at the woman before her as she throws the file back down on her desk. "You had no right to withhold evidence from me."

"Well, what did you expect?" Lanie reasons, her voice calm and steady. "The last time Castle tried to talk to you about your mother's murder, you bit his head off."

Rolling her eyes, Beckett rejects the implication. "Please, Lanie-"

But the Medical Examiner knows her friend. Knows what she needs to hear. So she cuts Beckett off and gives her the facts. "I _noticed_ the wound similarity. I reached out to Dr. Murray. I held off from telling you until I knew the evidence was rock solid. Beckett, we came to you the moment we were sure."

Beckett chews on her lips as Lanie's words flow through her head like pieces of a Tetris game, but they just refuse to fit together, continuously tumbling around, not processing properly. Because as much as she logically knows that Lanie did everything right, emotionally, she just can't get past Dr. Murray's statement.

'_...killed by the same man who murdered your mother.'_

Words stall in her throat as her head and heart wage an emotional battle with each other, pulling her resolve in opposite directions... suddenly to engage an immediate cease-fire at the sound of Captain Montgomery's solid voice summoning her to his office.

"Beckett, can I have a word with you?"

_Shit. _

_She can't do this…_

_And he knows it._

* * *

><p>Tears trickle down Kate's cheek, paralleling the raindrops streaming down the surface of her windshield.<p>

She'd heard Castle call to her as she left the bullpen, but she couldn't bring herself to look back. She didn't want to look at him. Didn't want him to see her weak. Broken.

Didn't want to see herself reflected back at her via his ever-revealing eyes. Eyes that seem to be able to read every facet of her life.

And she didn't want him to read this one. Not this time.

She'd gone home, but as darkness began to settle over the city - the downpour outside mirroring her own emotions - she found the cavernous space of her empty apartment to be disconcerting. Threatening.

Too open.

So she'd shielded herself inside her car and locked her doors, listening to the storm outside drown out the raging storm inside. Isolated herself. Crawled behind her wall - familiar comfort and safety wrapping around her like a protective blanket.

But it wouldn't go away. The unholy storm continued to rage. A tempest of unsettling emotions. A blitzkrieg on her system - the gnawing sensation in her core… the clenching fist squeezing her heart… the flurry of voices assaulting her mind.

Hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, the back of her skull pressing firmly into the head-rest, Kate squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath, exhaling excruciatingly slowly through her mouth before opening her eyes again.

She stares hypnotically at the glowing streetlamp, the rain creating a glimmer reminiscent of a halo, as her hand digs into her coat pocket and pulls out her cell phone. Sliding it open, her fingers hesitate, hovering over the keypad. Glancing up at the streetlamp again, a single tear wells in the corner of her eye as she stares at the light.

A light in the darkness.

Releasing a resolute sigh, Beckett refocuses her attention on her phone, her thumb scrolling through her contacts.

The voice on the other end soothes her immediately.

"Katie?..."

"Hey Dad…" she smiles into the phone, relishing the comforting sensation that washes over her as she listens to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The brief silence is comfortable. Stable. Jim knows if she's calling this late, it's important. So he says nothing. He waits. And she loves him for that.

"Can… can you meet me…?" she exhales, eyes closed, the pitter-patter of the rain against the metal roof now quite calming.

"Of course," he replies without hesitation, his words wrapping her in a warm and loving embrace, the storm within beginning to settle. "Where?"

* * *

><p>'<em>The truth can never hurt you.'<em>

Her father's words echo in her head, and she can't help but agree. The truth is more powerful than anything… and she wants to find it.

Riding up the SoHo apartment building's elevator, Beckett glances at her reflection in the mirror and smiles softly to herself as she recalls her father's assertion.

'_The truth is still your weapon to wield. Not theirs.'_

Truth conquers all.

A powerful weapon indeed.

Exiting the elevator, she takes a deep breath as she approaches his door. It's after 10:00pm. Arriving unannounced on his doorstep?... after she'd stormed out of the precinct and not looked back. Her heart begins to flip erratically as she starts to imagine the miffed greeting she might receive.

But swallowing her pride, she lifts her fist, and - hesitating for only a brief moment - winces slightly as she knocks twice on the door, quickly bringing her hand down, fingers twining together to steady her nerves.

But all of her trepidation vanishes the instant the door swings open - the open, caring eyes of the writer staring back at her, exuding nothing but warmth.

"Hey."

"Hey…" she replies as he welcomes her into the loft, unable to hide her shy smile.

Because in his eyes, she also sees truth.

* * *

><p>The truth breaks Johnny Vong.<p>

The truth leads them to back to Dick Coonan.

The bastard who hired a professional hitman to kill Jack in order to keep his drug trafficking ring safe - the same assassin who murdered Beckett's mother in cold blood.

And all the smug jackhole says is, "_Prove it."_

Standing behind the two-way mirror, Castle's fist clenches tightly, his entire body stiffening, as he watches L.T. deposit Coonan into the plastic chair in Interrogation One.

The man's face so placid, his mannerisms so blasé… he knowingly hired a mercenary to murder his own brother and yet he's sitting there, playing with his fingernails like he's just waiting patiently in line at Starbucks while the barista finishes making his latte. _Fucker_. Taking a deep breath, Castle suppresses the urge to blast through the door and drive the arrogant son of a bitch into the wall.

His eyes flicker over to look at the woman to his left - she's so quiet. Her breathing slow, restrained. Eyes locked on the man in The Box. The man who has the answer to the one question that has been haunting her for a decade.

The writer's pulse slows to a calm, rhythmic beat as he shifts his weight, unsure of what he should say. What he should do. This case tore her apart for years... she did a year of therapy to dig herself out of the rabbit hole that she'd allowed herself to fall into… and the Universe just slapped her in the face.

He can't even fathom how she's still able to keep it together.

"Are you okay?" he dares to ask, his tone sympathetic and gentle.

"Ten years," she whispers, eyes trained on Coonan, "since we came home and found that detective waiting for us…"

His heart shatters as he listens to the quiver in her voice and swallows the urge to give her a hug. So he says nothing. Just waits… Allows her the moment to verbalize what's been weighing her down…

Her breath is gritty when she finds the strength to speak again. "Ten years since we crossed that yellow tape and went into that alley. And every time I cross the tape at a crime scene, I think of that night."

The thunderous silence reverberates as he pauses before speaking. "Well, that's what makes you such a good cop."

Watching the pain on her face, the way she presses her lips together, the way she fights to keep her body from trembling - it hurts to witness. Pains him to see her so broken. So vulnerable.

Turning slightly to face him, she swallows, but is unable to to bring her eyes to meet his. Her voice shivers as she whispers, "What if I let her down?" but the weary and desperate look in her eyes begs him, _'Say something reassuring.'_

Inhaling in a heavy breath, Castle takes a minute to find the right words. She needs strength right now. She needs to be reminded of who she is.

Needs the truth.

Glancing back at the prick behind the glass, the writer find his words. And hopes she understands.

"Do you know why I chose you as my inspiration for Nikki Heat?"

"No," she breathes, her eyes finally finding his for the first time since she slapped her cuffs on Coonan back at his office. "Why?"

"Because you're tall."

Watching the smile tug on her lips, the twinkle sparkle in eyes that had been so sombre - warmth swirls in his core.

Vulnerability?... meet Strength.

"Now go in there and do your job," he utters as he watches Kate disappear before his eyes, Detective Beckett rising from the ashes like a phoenix reborn.

Extraordinary.

* * *

><p>He can't help but laugh when she tells him Johnny Vong is willing to testify.<p>

"The guy with the phony accent and the real estate scam?" Coonan chuckles. "Is that the best you could do?" _(Because he won't live long enough, Detective…)_

Well, she's tenacious, he'll give her that. The cold stare in her eyes, trying to put up a tough front, unflinching. _(She truly believes she's actually got a case.) _Her mother thought so too… and look how that turned out.

He suppresses the urge to laugh in her face, instead listening to her make threats about the death penalty _(Is that supposed to scare me?)_, before he looks up - reading her.

She's got a pretty decent poker face, but not good enough. He can see it written all over her face - how desperate she is to get her hands on the elusive assassin. To catch mommy's killer. _(Wanna play, little girl?... Let's play.)_

Dangle the bait and watch her swallow the hook.

"For the low, low price of transactional immunity, I can give you the closure you've been seeking," he counters, voice steady, giving away nothing. "You get Rathborne, and I walk. And that, Detective, is my final offer."

The two of them stare in silence, unblinking, for a short while longer. He knows how this game is played - and he knows how it will end. Because he wrote the rules… and can change the rules whenever he likes.

He forces himself not to smirk as he watches the detective, straight faced, push her chair back from the table and head to the door without saying a word. The quick glance she throws at the mirror might have been missed by most people, but not him. And it amuses him thoroughly that she had an audience to witness her self-inflicted humiliation. _(I wonder if the boyfriend is back there… cry on his shoulder...)_

Patience.

A serpent - lying in wait.

Patience.

The detective eventually returns. Bait swallowed.

Patience.

When his lawyer finally arrives, the attorney informs him of the game plan - "Tell them what they need to know about Rathborne. Answer questions factually. Give them nothing else."

The whole situation delights him to no end. Coonan wants to snigger as he watches the detective pace the room, demanding a description of the enigmatic assassin.

_(Oh Detective, if you only knew…)_

"About my height," he responds nonchalantly, loving the irony. "Just so average he's almost invisible." _(So invisible that you don't even see him when he's sitting in front of you!)_

He snickers on the inside - keeping his face as cold as stone - as she continues to grill him about how he and "Rathborne" met, how he hired the killer…

And then she throws a curveball he didn't expect. A curveball that isn't curving as much as she'd hoped… She wants to entrap the assassin. Lure him by using the real estate scam artist as bait! _(Oh, this is too good!)_

So he swings. _(Let's play, little girl!) _"Look, you wanna catch her killer, the price is a hundred Grand."

And lo-and-behold, writer boyfriend swoops in, a knight in shining armour, opening his heart and dumping his bank account on the table. _(Well done, Captain America!)_

"You can't... I can," the writer says when she tries to talk him out of it, his eyes dark, locked on Coonan. "This one's on me." _(Nice poker face buddy…)_

Apparently chivalry isn't dead. Writer Boy just lost a hundred-thousand bucks in a poker game he thought he was going to win. And for what? To prove his love? _(How cute.)_

So the drug ring is safe, his loser of a brother is dead, the Westies are scared shitless, and the mystery author just paid him $100,000 bail him out of jail.

He can taste the venom dripping off his tongue, his maliciousness slithering across their resolve.

Patience.

* * *

><p>Her heart sinks - her hand tumbling to her side, eyes falling shut - at the sound of Ryan's voice pouring out of the 2-way hand-held. "We must have spooked him... Rathborne didn't show."<p>

Disbelief floods her system as her grip loosens, the radio dropping carelessly onto her desk.

After ten years. She finally had a shot...

Raking her hair back across her scalp, she can't bring herself to look at the writer sitting at her side. He spent - _wasted_ - a hundred-thousand dollars for her. And she blew it.

Heaving a solid breath, she frustratedly chews on her bottom lip as she stares off into oblivion. _What went wrong?_

After several minutes of painful and perplexed silence, Castle rises from his brown chair, his eyes finally lifting to gaze solemnly at her face. Turning her head, her vacant eyes meet deep blue pools of dark concern, but she quickly tears her eyes from his, choosing instead to look at the floor.

He continues to stand there, right beside her. Silent and steadfast. Waiting for her to decide where to go from here.

Pursing her lips tightly together, eyes flashing back and forth, her mind whirrs, but no answers come. Daring herself to look at her shadow once again, the writer looks back at her knowingly and gifts her with a subtle nod before taking a step, silently following her to the breakroom.

She looks at the barstools, the plastic chairs, the hard pleather couch… and shakes her head. Sitting indicates the admission of defeat. And she's not willing to accept that. Not yet. Opting to remain standing, she leans back against the cold, melamine countertop, lost in a daze, suddenly discovering a mug of hot coffee enfolded within her grip.

"Thanks," she whispers, looking up from her reverie to glance momentarily at Castle. He nods politely, a tiny grin tugging on the side of his mouth. She forces a light smile in return, but it quickly fades.

The writer returns his attention to his own coffee cup, the unsettling quiet enveloping around them once again.

A hundred-thousand dollars lost.

Her mother's killer still out there.

She failed.

She failed as a detective. She failed as a daughter.

The weight of that reality bears down on her… grates at her soul.

"I let her down," Beckett sighs, breaking the silence.

"No, you didn't."

"Rathborne's in the wind. Dick Coonan's about to walk. I missed something."

She did indeed.

A snake in a fancy suit!

* * *

><p>Staring vacantly at a small burn marking the wood floor, Castle feels a heavy hand weigh down on his shoulder, waking him from his daze.<p>

He hardly looks up as a small bag of ice appears in his line of sight.

"Here..." Esposito utters as Castle accepts the cold pack as if in a trance.

The writer feels instant relief as he presses the ice to the back of his throbbing skull.

"Slamming your head back like that while the guy had a gun on you? Pretty stupid, Bro," the Latino smirks, sitting down on the edge of Beckett's desk.

The writer nods in agreement, wide-eyed and eyebrows raised, as he listens to the detective add, "and brave."

Surprised, Castle looks up to meet Esposito's face, giving him a lopsided grin, but he lets the topic drop there as he shifts his gaze to look across the bullpen at one of the interview rooms. Beckett and the I.A. Lieutenant are still locked in there together, her eyes still bloodshot from the deluge of tears. Montgomery is still enclosed in his office, phone glued to his ear.

To say it was all a blur is an understatement.

Beckett was kneeling beside Coonan one minute - her hands caked in blood - and the next, Homicide was a flurry of activity. Someone had pulled him away from the detective, questions being thrown at him. What happened? Where was Beckett standing? Where was Montgomery? Did Coonan point the gun at the police? Who called the paramedics? When did they arrive? Did anyone other than Beckett touch Coonan's body?

The questions kept coming. His brain kept spinning. And then he somehow ended up sitting in his chair beside her desk.

"You should go home, Bro."

Castle refocuses his attention on the Latino who is now sitting in Beckett's steno chair, elbows pressed into his knees as he leans forward.

"But-"

"She's gonna be locked up in there for hours giving her statement," Espo explains, canting his head to follow the writer's gaze at the interview room. "There's nothing more you can do here."

Castle releases a short, disappointed breath as his eyes return to meet with the detective's. His mouth falls open, but no words come out. Because Esposito's right. There's nothing he can do.

He's not a cop.

He doesn't belong here.

Giving a short nod of acquiescence, Castle exhales a defeated sigh and pushes himself out of the chair, grimacing as a sharp pain on his right side pinches - a firm reminder of how close he came to losing his life.

To leaving Martha without a son... Alexis fatherless.

Wincing as he hobbles towards the elevator, clutching his side to subdue the pain of his bruised liver, he chances one last look at the interview room… at Beckett. And an intense feeling of guilt sucker punches him the gut, knocks the wind from lungs.

_He_ pulled her back into the rabbit hole.

All of this is _his_ fault.

All of it.

He can't do this anymore. Stepping into the elevator, he watches the doors close, the view of Homicide disappearing.

_It's time._

* * *

><p>There's nothing for her to do except watch, her mother's ring brushing gently against the sensitive skin over her heart, unsure of what to say as he starts emptying his bag onto her desk - plastic take-out containers, cardboard containers, foil-wrapped food.<p>

Her breath catches in her throat. Comfort food.

Reading the despair and remorse on his forlorn face, she stares into the blue eyes of the man seated next to her. He can't hide the guilt that eats at him.

Guilt that he shouldn't feeling.

_Tell him!_

She'd told Montgomery she needed_ "him" _alive… and she could have been talking about Coonan. Heck, even she'd thought that was who she was talking about when those desperate words tumbled from her lips, begging her Captain to back off, to not provoke Coonan further - because Coonan held the answers to the questions that had been plaguing her since that January night in 1999.

She'd tried to convince herself it was Coonan she needed alive. Desperately tried.

But she can't fool herself.

_...Tell him!_

For more than a year, the writer has been right there beside her - annoying her, pushing her buttons, making her laugh, helping her to think outside the box. He's been maddening, challenging, frustrating… and yet he's been patient, supportive, understanding.

He's been 'there'. Always right there. Never faltering.

_...Tell him!_

He _needs_ the truth.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," she soothes, but he rejects the olive branch this time.

She listens to his statement… sorrowful and apologetic and not at all what she wants him to say. Declarations of_ 'I'm through' _and _'can't shadow you anymore' _cause her to heart to sink even more.

'_I need him alive.' _

Need him…

Castle...

_...Tell him!_

She swallows her pride and speaks, interrupting his self-admonition because she can't bear to-

Because the thought of Castle not here is-

She needs _him_!

"If it wasn't for you, I would've never found my mom's killer," she states, cutting him off, silencing him with her admission. "And someday soon, I'm gonna find the sons of bitches who had Coonan kill her… and I'd like you around when I do."

She pauses to try to get a read on him before inhaling slightly, the palpitations of her heart thumping spasmodically against her ribs.

_SAY IT!_

"And if you tell anyone what I'm about to say, there's gonna be another shooting, but…" she swallows, "I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails. I have a hard job, Castle, and having you around makes it a little more fun."

Her eyes search his, hazel and cobalt fusing together, hoping beyond hope that he knows what she means. That he understands.

Everything slows down in this moment, time crawling, and she waits for what seems to be an eternity before she watches as the hard lines on his face soften, his eyes glistening as they bore into hers.

She gifts him a warm smile as he promises to keep her secret to himself - and although she knows that she wasn't able to say everything she wanted to say… she was able to get out what, in that moment, she _needed_ to say.

The truth.

And that's enough for now.

* * *

><p>.<p>

**I know this was a long one – but as such a pivotal episode in their relationship, there were just too many scenes that I couldn't pass up writing (along with a few fun ones for the boys…)**

**And I will admit that writing from Coonan's POV, though an interesting challenge, made me very angry. Glad I never have to do it again. :P**

**.**

**Thanks, Syzygy, for being such a good sounding board. (Does this sentence make me look fat?) ;)**

**.**

**So now that my Christmas holidays are over, my free time to write will also disappear… but I'll keep plugging away at it… 13 down, 11 to go.**

**Judge Away. :D**


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